


Legacy of John

by Lord_of_the_acoustics



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Fallout 4, John Wick (Movies), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Bisexual Midoriya Izuku, Izuku owns a bar, Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21745606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_of_the_acoustics/pseuds/Lord_of_the_acoustics
Summary: Aizawa didnt like it, not one bit. He had fought him, hell Nemuri and Han fought him aswell. Endeavour was in hospitable for three weeks after his fight with him. Why Nedzu Decided it was a smart idea to bring a Professional assassin into U.A was beyond him."You start next week Midoriya."----------------------------Some of my favourite characters are named Jo(h)n, and they have a wide range of skills and characterisations that I think would be interesting to give Izuku.
Comments: 170
Kudos: 436





	1. The beginning of a legacy

Kacchan had an amazing quirk, the abil- abili, he was able to make explosions with his hands, using his sweat. His quirk was so cool. Too bad he used it against him. I haven’t gotten my quirk yet, even though I don’t have the extra toe-joint. The doctors said its an ‘invisible quirk’ which means something has to happen for it to work. I don’t believe it. Kacchan doesn’t believe it either, but for different reasons. He says I’m quirkless, I’m useless, that I’m a Deku. I know it’s not true, the voices say differently. They say I’m not ready yet, that’s all.

“Quite it Kacchan,” he was doing it again, hurting people with his quirk. 

“GET OUT OF THE WAY DEKU,” he said it was for hero training, but I knew he was just being a bully. The kid that Kacchan was hurting took his chance to run. 

Me, Kacchan and his two friends, “Lackeys kid, they’re called lackeys.”

It was one of the voices, the ones that say I’m not ready for my quirk yet, “I feel like its time kid,” a hand placed itself on my shoulder, a red coat. Turning to look I saw him, wrinkled skin, a weird pirate hat, jeans and an American flag tied around his waste. But what was most shocking, was the fully black eyes and lack of nose. It wasn’t the strangest I’ve ever seen, but it still shocked me.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghoul kid, well, I guess you have,” his voice was weird, like those people who smoke too much, “Just gonna go for the jugular there kid, ouch.”

“DONT IGNORE ME DEKU,” Kacchan was getting angrier, and when that happens I get hurt.

“Not this time kid,” the man said as he pulled out a knife and weird looking needle, “I know it ain’t exactly what you’d call ‘heroic’, but id rather you not hurt yourself,” that’s when he jabbed the needle into my neck and gave me the knife. The world slowed around me, the edges of my vision blurred, my hands and feet felt light.

I felt amazing. 

and when Kacchan threw his hand, I felt alive. The fluidity of my movements, a flick of a wrist here, and slide of the feet there, a cross and jab at his face, a slice at his hand, I felt ALIVE. The way his body rocked back from the blows, his hand trembling from the cut. I felt the blast that hit my ribs, the feeling of them creaking under the pressure, the experience spanning across seconds for me, instantly for Kacchan. 

Insignificant. 

A slash at his leg, a kick to the knee of the other. The damage was taking a toll on him, Kacchan no longer used his right hand, the cut too painful, his legs were shaking, tears in his eyes and a scared face.

Fear.

Kacchan was afraid, he was afraid of me.

The high that I’d experience had an awful come down, guilt and disgust. I hurt Kacchan, and now he was scared.

The fight lasted less than ten seconds, enough time to leave him in a bloodied and bruised state, now asleep, enough time for the ‘lackeys’ to run away.

“I told you it wasn’t going to be heroic kid,” the man was sitting on a near by swing set, all the casual cheer and charm gone, leaving a man that looked sad.

He did this to Kacchan.

“What do I do?” He helped me in the fight, I know he did, I couldn’t have done the things I did. HOW DO YOU FIGHT WITH A KNIFE.

“Calm your thoughts kid, Jesus, no need to yell,” he reached into one of several pockets, rummaging around before grabbing another needle filled with a red substance.

“The last needle made me hurt him.”

“This needle will help him,” he replied before he raised it high and jabbed it down, right in the middle of Kacchan’s chest.

The walk home is quiet, Kacchan wasn’t talking, the man in the red coat wasn’t talking and I, I don’t think I want to talk. Kacchan isn’t limping, and he doesn’t look hurt anymore, so there’s that.

“Mayor John Hancock.”

“Huh.”

“My names John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbour, of the people, for the people,” the smile he had when we first met is there again, all calm and charismatic. The coat he wear crinkled as he raised his arms behind his head, whistling a slow tune that relaxed my nerves easily.

“You’re my quirk,” he knew it, but he’d never heard of a quirk like this.

“Im… part of your quirk, one of a few, your just not ready for the rest,” he looked upwards for a bit, a slight tilt to his head in confusion, “though I feel one of the others would’ve been better for you, more mature at least,” the wink he sent almost made me giggle.

I wasn't as stressed about the fight as I was before, the walk home holding a bit more skip in my step.

Kacchan was still quiet though. He looked mad, but he still had that look on his face, the one he had before he fell. He was scared.

Hancock was sitting on my bed after dinner, a serving of katsudon, holding the two needles he had used today, “These are a psyhco-jet and a stimpack serving, one quickens your reflexes and increases your physical capabilities, and the other can heal wounds, though if they are bad enough, scars will be left,” Kacchan had a scar on his hand.

“How did I do what I did?”  
“You mean fight with a knife, simple kid, you had me,” that confused me though, how did Hancock help.

“Kid, I’m in your head, you have access to everything I have, my knife, my consumables, my skills, hell, probably my witty charm,” the laughter that fell from his mouth was warm but sly, and the way that it pulled laughter from me was amazing. 

“Now, don’t you think it’s time to tell your mother.”  
…

….

HE FORGOT TO TELL MOM HE HAD A QUIRK


	2. Learning about his legacy

The ride home was quiet, dauntingly so. The quirk registration went well, a brief description of his quirk to the doctor, a display of what it did (The shock on his mothers face when a knife just _appeared_ making Hancock laugh was an interesting ordeal) and finally a name.

Legacy of John.

A bit theatrical, but Hancock wasn’t complaining, and really, neither was I. Now the current car drive though, I might complain about. Mom hadn’t said anything, she wasn’t mad but she wasn’t... expressive.

“It’s just shock kid,” the ghoul said, lounging away in the back seat, no apparent care for personal safety, “Kid, I’m a figment of your imagination, the only way I can get hurt is if you imagine it.”

“Can I _think_ you away?”

Hancock was nice and all, but I don’t think I could handle having him at the back of my mind twenty four seven.

“Everyone needs their peace and quiet kid,” he said, his sagely wisdom being cut with an undertone of humour, “I can pick up on context clues.”

And with that, he vanished, not in a puff of smoke, no fancy displays, just _gone_.

“Honey,” there was worry there, clear enough for me to see at least “The... voice in your head, does he say anything... worrying.”

What did she mean by that, worrying in what sense. Okay, maybe the fact he put a knife in my hand and helped me hurt Kacchan was worr-

“HE WHAT!” The abrupt stop shocked me just as much as the fact that I’d said that out loud. The look on moms face was worrying in itself, like the time she realised she’d left the stove on and burnt the pork for katsudon. That birthday was kinda iffy.

“Oh boy kid, you got yourself into a doozy,” there he is again, just appearing out of nowhere.

“Kid, I’m like a thought, I just pop up, don’t expect much else,” the sound of a match striking something and the appearance of smoke was just the icing on the cake for a stressful situation.

“Kid, if your stressed, all you need to do is ask and I’ll help, of the people, for the people.”

That was all I needed, some help.

“Prepare for that Hancock charm.”

It was like when he put the knife in my hand, the sudden feeling of understanding, the comfort of knowing what to do, how to do it and why I was doing it. It helped me disable Kacchan so he couldn’t fight, it helped me heal him. Now, now it would help me do something I wasn’t able to do before. 

_Chill the fuck out._

“Mom,” that stopped her sporadically rambling about me becoming a delinquent.

_Delinquents a bit harsh, I’d prefer greaser_

_“_ Mom, calm for a second and let me explain,” the slows breaths she took allowed for some lee-way.

_Okay, I’m gonna give you your first lesson kid. When you trying to convince someone of something, you look to desire. No-ones gonna do something unless they get something out of it. Your moms worried about you, and she won’t let me help you unless she gets something out of it._

“Kacchan... Kacchan wasn’t being nice, and there was another kid, and I just didn’t want him hurting someone else.”

“Honey, you used a knife on Katsuki,” _you need to get to the point. Think kid, what does your mom more than anything else._

“I only hurt kacchan, cause he was hurting me,” what once was disappointment on moms face was something akin to sadness and horror. _I’d say nice work kid, but you’ve only opened up the proposition to her, now, now you need to convince her._

“If I didn’t do what I did, if Hancock hadn’t helped me, I would have been hurt.”

Mom still looked sad, but the way she tilted her head and looked up meant she was at least considering what I said. 

_Second lesson kid, people are more likely to agree with you or go along with you if you’re honest, so tell her a truth._

“My quirks going to change me mom,” the confusion on her face was understandable, hell I was confused about this situation, “And you’re going to have to accept that.”

It took a few minutes for mom to reply to what I had said.

“Sweaty, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fully accept what you might become, but it’ll help at least if you show that you won’t change fully, and you can show that by talking to Katsuki, and work through your... relationship.”

The rest of the drive home was just as quiet and uncomfortable as it was before.

Dinner was uncomfortable (that seemed to be the theme today at least) and eventually I just excused myself to my bedroom. When I entered my room I found none other than Hancock laying on my bed, cigarette in hand and humming a slow tune, a tune that he had hummed the day before.

“What is that?” It sounded nice, calming, and the way Hancock was smiling, it was probably wonderful.

“I don’t want to set the world on fire, a pre-nuke classic, and a personal favourite, well, besides Magnolias tunes.”

Taking a drag from his cigarette, Hancock began to hum again, letting out a puff of smoke, a melancholic look on his face.

“Whats wrong?”

“Just thinking of simpler times.”

One thing had been beginning to bug me about Hancock since I first met him.

“Where did you come from,” he slowly began to look my way, a comforting smirk coming across his face.

“Ill show you,” and with that, he gently grabbed my hand.

_I don’t want to se the world on fire_

A river bank with an older brother, a tomato jammed into his shirt.

_I just want to set a flame in your heart_

A mob running through a city, ghouls being run out.

_In my heart I have but one desire_

A town called Goodneighbour, a tyrannical mayor that beat and stole from his citizens.

_And that one is you, no other will do_

A strange needle, a high un-like any other, skin changing and waking up in front of a red coat, a new man named John Hancock being born

_I lost all ambition for worldly acclaim_

The weight of a man as he’s pushed over a balcony into a cheering crowd, expectant faces looking up. “OF THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE.”  


_I just want to be the one you love_

Shanking a man as a handsome stranger walks into town.

_And with your admission that you’d feel the same_

Facing the handsome stranger again after finding him in my vault. The realisation that I’ve been cooped for too long, and offering to go along on his adventure.

_I’ll have reaches the goal I’m dreaming of_

A breath of Jet, a close embrace with the handsome wanderer.

_Believe me_

Admitting my growing love for a man I met so few months ago.

_I don’t want to set the world on fire_

Fighting against the Institute of steel, explosions against the Prydwen, my handsome wanderer fighting the jackass in his battlecoat.

_I just want to start a flame in your heart_

Holding his hand as he drifts through his last high, singing our favourite song just one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got my laptop back.


	3. Beginning of CHanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku learns another lesson, one more fundamental than the others.

Sunday mornings are a strange teetering point. It’s a day of rest, a time where one will make a nicer breakfast than usual, bacon and eggs instead of cereal. A time where someone can sleep in until ten, instead of having to rise before seven, the comfort of quilt and sheets keeping in sweat dreams and even sweater moments. Alas, it's also the final day before a week of school, or work, or daily struggles. It’s a point where one is grasping at the comfort of a quiet day, knowing that they will have to let go and get back to work. Neither aspect is what Izuku faces now. The usual sweat dream of being a hero, of meeting All Might, of a large bowl of Katsudon is replaced with the bitter-sweat memories of another life, an aspect that is now a part of himself. 

Lessons taught merely a day before are now being reinforced from where they were originally learnt, a world of radiation and rot. An inconsequential fight between friends paling to a fight to the death for some pocket change to get another hit. Memories of his life, of his mom, of kacchan, of a vacant father are accompanied by a life of continues loss, of harmful methods to cover said loss and then of finding purpose not once, but twice. The title of Deku being held alongside the title of the Good Neighbour.

“Why were you the first?” Its a simple question. Izuku knows that there are others in his head, other people that will teach him lessons, other lives that will influence his own.

“Kid, as much as I hate to say this, you’re gonna face issues later. You’re gonna learn things that a kid shouldn’t have to learn. You’re gonna face challenges and problems that aren’t your own. And most importantly, you’re gonna feel things that you wouldn’t normally.”

It quiets Izuku for a moment, a child of four with memories of an entire lifetime, a child with skills and traits and likes that a child should not own. The realisation of lives harder than that of Hancocks running through his head.

“Will I be able to handle it?” The fear in his thoughts is clear, the worry of facing others challenges, of changing and developing in strange and worrying ways.

“Kid, I don’t know, but that’s why I was first, to help you.”

The words come to Izukus head instantly.

“Of the people”

“For the people”

Breakfast is what a Sunday breakfast should be, flavourful and peaceful. American in nature, bacon and eggs, some buttered toast, Inko sipping from a cup of coffee while Izuku drinks apple juice, Hancock in the corner drinking nuke cola and whiskey mixer, munching on deathclaw omelette.

The feeling of bacon grease on Izukus tongue is almost as heavy as the words on his lips.

“Hancock, was he a hero?”

The question stops the slow slip of his mixer, his knife and fork making imaginary clinks on the imaginary plate holding his imaginary meal.

“He was, but not as you think.”

The response stumps Izuku. He saw the memories, of a man defeating someone who looked like a villain. A man standing tall helping those around him.

“My wanderer was a man.” The way he says it is slow and peaceful, neither happy or sad. Its a statement, a fundamental truth

“He helped others, but he often did so by killing hundreds. He built communities, but he did so by selling items from bodies he looted and stealing from the living. He didn’t put away criminals, he put down men. He lied, brutalised, cheated and more. He was a hero to those who followed him, and a villain to those he faced. Just as easily as we fell in love, we could have hated each other.”  


Its all said so matter-o-factly, as if Hancock has no connection to the wanderer, he stating facts directly. 

The words sink in slowly, like the butter that sinks into Izukus toast. Just as the toast was hard and ridged but is now soft and flexible, so is Izuku beginning to be.

“Kid, Katsuki could just as easily be Elder Maxson as he could be Nathan Hancock. The term hero isn’t rigid, and those who claim the title should be flexible enough to change with it.”

It hurts Izuku, he doesn’t fully understand why but it does.

“You’ll learn why eventually.” The statement is somber, an unstoppable eventuality, a lesson to eventually be learnt.

When Izuku goes to eat his breakfast again, he does so near quietly, the only noises heard being made from cutlery lightly scraping against his plate and soft humming, a slow and calm tune that comes to him easily.

When he looks up, he sees his mother sitting there, empty plate laid out in front of her and a small smile on her face.

“That sounds beautiful honey, what is it?” The smile on her face is soft and genuine, something that’s been scarce the past few hours. It lifts Izukus spirit instantly.

“I don’t want to se the world on fire. John taught me it.” The reply makes Inko chuckle lightly.

“Well, hopefully John can teach you some more, then maybe you can sing for me.” The thought is nice and makes Izuku smile even more, songs popping up in his head sporadically, memories attached to each. Some happy, some sad, some that Izuku doesn’t think he should be seeing (Adults are weird). It brings a thought to Izukus head, one that he probably wouldn’t have had before the existence of his quirk.

“Hey mom?” He r  hum of recognition is barely heard over the cleaning of empty plates, the sound of water splashing across dishes and utensils loud in a quiet house.

“Can I learn piano?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i have a thing or two to say. First, I dont have a particular plot line for this story, i have scenarios and scenes that i definitely want to reach, but major plot lines will probably be created as I go along. Secondly, I just want to say thanks to the few people who have read this, i havent written much but some people have shown interest and i feel happy with that.
> 
> Spoiler, im making U.A a university type scenario, not for sex exactly, more so cause i want izuku to own a bar.


	4. Calm, cool, collected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku explains some things, a nice day at preschool and a demand the end.

How do you greet someone who you almost killed because they were hurting someone else?

It’s a genuine question, I can’t just go “Hey Kacchan, I’ve got a quirk and it helped me use a knife in our fight.”

At least, I don’t think I can.

“Want another lesson kid, people can’t speak if they’re stunned silent,” okay, maybe I could greet him like that. Or Kacchan could greet me first.

“Some conversations are like dancing, a fluid movement between two people. Others, are like fights, it’s better to hit hard and hit fast, overpower your opponent. If Katsuki comes to you first, then he’s got the upper hand.”

Okay, so he needed to talk to Kacchan first, he needed to speak to him strongly and he needed to do it before he was too scared to do so. 

…

Oh crap.

…

Okay, he could do this, it was just Kacchan. Kacchan who hard started hurting him. Kacchan who he had so easily brutalised. Kacchan who was headed right towards him. 

Wait what.

There he was, his four year old legs stomping with more power than he had, trembling hands sparking away and a glare that could kill. He was angry.

“Want me to take this one kid?” The question is somewhat comforting, a way out of the current scenario. He could run from the situation.

“Nathan wouldn’t run, would he.” It’s phrased less like a question and more like a statement. Looking up to Hancock is like looking at mom when I clean my room right or spell a new word correctly, there’s a calm smile, a soft congratulation at me having done the right thing.

“He wouldn’t kid, he’d face the problem head on, whether it be done with words or weapons. He’d see someone like Katsuki and fix the problem.” He pats my shoulder in encouragement, a sense of strength flowing through me. Like before, it all flows comfortingly into me, an understanding of what I _need_ to do.

_Put my foot down, tell the truth and calm Kacchan down._

Just as Kacchan opens his mouth I shut him down, “I have a quirk.”

His mouth closes slowly, the stiffness in his shoulders slumping slightly. His face is still scrunched and his eye twitches, but still.

_Progress._

_“_ I have a quirk that lets me know how to do things,” the knife comes to my hand, “It lets me know how to fight.

The stimpak is next, “It lets me know how to help people.”

I look into his red, twitching eyes, displaying full confidence in myself. I step forward, applying a sense of pressure and power, followed by a hand on his shoulder to comfort and relax him. Finally, I let out a sigh, a display of acceptance.

“It lets me stand up to you.”

The look on Kacchans face is surprising, in the fact that it’s one of shock. The complete slump of his shoulders, the relaxation of his arms, the silencing of pops and crackles. Kacchan falls silent, stopped of all forward momentum. 

_He's calmed down, the truth is out and you’ve showed him you won’t back down. Good job, but you need to follow through_ _, people don’t like being told they’re wrong, don’t like sudden changes in the status quo, you’ve softened it a bit but you still need to lighten the blow._

“My quirk changes me Kacchan, for better or for worse I don’t know, but I’m going to change. Im not going to be Deku forever, I’m probably no longer Deku now, I’m Izuku and several other things. You need to accept that, maybe not now but eventually.”

The hand slides off his shoulder easily, tracing down his arm and into his hand, his red eyes following the movement slowly. I feel the scar on his palm, the rougher skin from a fresh wound rubbing against soft skin. Another hand touches his cheek, feeling the still remaining baby fat that makes a softer face, an unexpected wetness from an errant tear that graced his cheek.

“I hope you can understand that. Now, time to agitate the gravel, I’m sure fingers and wings are waiting for you.”

Pulling Kacchan along was simple enough, with him being mellowed out and all, which was pretty cool.

_Straight out the fridge ankle biter._

The rest of the day went pretty much uneventfully. I presented my quirk to the class (not the knife or Hancock, just the needle), spent playtime explaining it a bit more to others, explaining to fingers and wings that they weren’t exactly nice people, cuddled with Kacchan during nap time while listening to Hancock sing. Was it the best performance, no -

_You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ cat_

But it was good, good enough for me to let some out and put Kacchan to rest.

That was nice.

The end of the day came eventually, other kids getting picked up parents or older siblings. Auntie was picking me up today with Kacchan, mom had to stay behind and finish some work.

It was a peaceful moment, sitting next to the blonde bomber, holding hands in an imitation of this morning. His face was scrunched, kinda like when moms deciding what to have for dinner.

_He wants to ask something. Body tells are important curtain climber, so you gotta watch how they react before and after saying something._

“Kacchan,” drawing attention again, “What are you thinking about.”

Its all said softly, a way to get him to coax it out, a way to keep him calm and fully willing to respond.

_Clever kid, clever._

Eventually he stands, tall and unbending.

_A request, or demand._

“I wanna fight.” Its said simply, as if he were demanding a crayon from one of the other kids, or how he used to demand something from me.

“You, you beat me,” accepting a truth, “You beat me with ease, and then you helped me.”

He stands trembling for a second, either on the edge of breaking down or outburst.

_Outburst_

“SO I WANNA FIGHT, I WANNA FIGHT YOU AGAIN.”

_Lesson whatever kid, if someones askin’ for a fight, then give them the bruisin’._

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the second last chapter of 4-5 year old Izuku, after the next chapter, we look at someone new, a man of focus.


	5. Changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A relationship changes under the cover of a red coat

Most people don’t like fighting, it’s a basic survival instinct, fighting causes personal harm, personal harm is a net negative. When someone thrives for a fight, lives for it, they fall and fall hard. At his core, Katsuki Bakugou is a fighter, and not in the good way. A strong quirk, a natural intelligence, even at the small age of five he’s got a headstrong will and determination to be the best. He wants to be number one. It’s admirable, and it’s stupid. 

Being mayor of Goodneighbour was a net positive experience, the highs were good, the people followed and respected me. I had power. At least, I thought I did. It took someone I thought liked me robbing me of my possessions to realise something. When you’re on top, you can only look down, and when you look down, you realise some tough shit. 

When I met the wanderer, I found someone who wasn’t on top. Leader of the minutemen, yes, but he worked harder than everyone else. He did the dirty work, he fought for his people, he _hurt_ for his people. He didn’t thrive for the fight, he saw the necessity of it. He wasn’t alone, because he didn’t strive to be on top. He didn’t want power, he wanted family, he wanted connection, he wanted to be where everyone else was. In the shit nuclear world I lived in, I found short term happiness in drugs, booze, sex and cigarettes. The wanderer, Nathan, he found happiness in helping others, in constructing towns, stopping monsters and making sure people were alright. He cured Cait, he helped Macready and he found happiness in me.

Katsuki, if he follows the path he’s on, a strive to be number one for the pure reason of being number one, he’s gonna end up sad, tired and alone. He thrives for the fight, and in the want and desire, he’ll end up hurt.

As part of Izuku’s quirk, I came first to help him learn. I want to show him _how_ to stay alive, _how_ to develop, _how_ to be better than those he will learn from. I suffered, I suffered and learnt. Izuku will feel what we have felt, he’ll suffer what we suffered, and he’ll learn from it. He’ll be better, and he’ll teach others to be better.

And he’ll start with Katsuki, he’ll show him what he needs to learn. 

_Heres another lesson, everyones an individual. They’re different, even if they’re only different in a modicum of a way, they’re still different. Context and consequences, everyone develops, and they develop and learn in different ways. Katsuki’s a fighter, a hands on approach is the best way to get a lesson into his thick skull. He’s smart, but he’s rigid in his world views. Be flexible, and teach him how with rigidity, one only ends up broken._

The park, the park they had played in since they were children, the park that kacchan would use his quirk in, the park he first discovered his quirk in. It was a constant, somewhere they both were attached to, a place that would be a staple in their lives to come. If Kacchan were to learn a lesson here, it would stick with him for the rest of his life. Whenever he would come here, he would remember.

A cool breeze paired with the warm rays from the midday sun. Specks of sand flicking up from the sand pit, the creak of springs of rocking seats, the slight jingle of swings swinging from the light blow of wind. In the serenity of the park lied an eeriness, as if the world itself was waiting for the fight to come. 

“You know, for someone to demand a fight, then show up late to said fight, kinda makes him seem like a spaz,” Hancock was sitting against one the trees that had fallen a few months back, an impromptu seat that no-one had removed. The cigarette in his hand let out a steady stream of smoke, some of it stinging Izukus eyes.

“How does that work?” Izukus quirk was strange, he would admit that openly, but Hancock was a figment of imagination, an imaginary cigarette shouldn’t burn his eyes.

“Same way I can give you a knife and stimpak, same way I can jab some psycho-jet into your neck,” He paused, looking at Izuku, then had an errant thought, “The same way I can give you a coat.”

The fabric was was heavy on his shoulders, the long sleeves with folded ends and heightened collar blocking out the breeze. Underneath was a smooth blue vest with dark yellow trimmings, placed over the top of a white silk shirt. The bottom of the dark red coat dipped slightly lower than his knees, covering the top of comfortable and worn black jeans, black combat boots appearing on his feet. The clothing laid a presence upon Izuku, the physical embodiment of Hancocks life, his story, his legacy.

“I wore those clothes to give a man a lesson, it’s fitting you should wear them to do the same.”

A sense of confidence, of calm, of joy swept over him, a feeling of standing in front of a world and not caring about the thoughts of others. He felt he could do anything.

“You look good kid, though you probably shouldn’t wear it too often, just for special events,” The final part was said with a wink. His head turned slightly towards the front of the park, a disturbance Izuku hadn’t picked up.

“He’s here.”

Kacchan was… angry? 

The usual tightness of shoulders and aggressive steps were present, but his eyes weren’t twitching and he lacked the popping that usually came before a fight or ‘game’.

_He’s serious. He sees a threat, someone who can and has beat him. He’s learnt something at least._

_“_ what?”

_You deserve respect._

He stops a few feet ahead, confidence and power in his stance.

_Look closer._

A slight shake in his hand, the slight twist of his heel, the way he slightly leans back.

_Fight or flight, it’s easy enough to notice in most people, but Katsuki wants to fight, his subconscious needs flight._

“How are we going to start Kacchan.” Once again the knife slips comfortably into his hand, the feeling of a psycho-jet needle in the other. The coat he wears protect him from the breeze, but feels like it could protect him from anything. A suit of armour. Hancock isn’t just guiding him, he’s protecting him.

Recognisable pops begin to sound in the air, the sweet scent of Kacchans quirk flowing in the wind. He bends his knees, hands out at his side.

_You recognise the stance._

He’s prepared to charge, quirk blazing ahead.

“We start now.”  


Its instant, a head on attack, quirk violently popping away.

It’s… silly. Kacchan’s quirk is amazing and supposed to be terrifying, but now, now that he has knowledge and ‘experience’, his quirk is inconsequential. In the future, these pops will be explosions, bursts of flame capable of tearing apart buildings. Now, its firecrackers, loud and flashy but ultimately harmless. Even as he runs head on, its clumsy and unfocused. Before, this would have had me stilling in fear. Now, now it’s… I don’t know. Kacchans five for Christs sake. What was once a show of power is now a tantrum.

All it takes is a knee to the gut. A quick, targeted forward knee to his tummy and he’s down, wheezing and struggling to stand. It’s sad.

_He’s a talented kid, but he’s a kid._

What am I?

_A kid, a kid with talent, but now it has some cultivated experience. You’re different._

He begins to stand again, wincing in pain, one arm holding his stomach while the other stays raised, aimed ahead.

It drops at the slice of a knife, a cut to adorn his palm, a parallel to the one on his other hand.

Four seconds. One knee and the swing of a knife. What was once a terrifying and unrelenting force is now a…

_Kid, someone who’s truly starting to learn about the world. If he stands again, send him back down. If he doesn’t, lift him up, show him what it means to be better. HELP HIM LEARN._

He has that same look as last time. His shoulders hunched, his hands close to his stomach and chest, feet dug into the earth getting ready to charge or run. A tear in his eye, a tremble running through his body. Scared. But its there, a look oh so similar to when he first showed his quirk, to when he read Izuku as Deku. Understanding.

“Katsuki,” his gaze jolts forward, the shock of hearing his name and not his nickname, “You are strong, you’re talented and driven and smart, but you’re mean and selfish and cruel.”

The tear slips from his eye, a harsh breath inward, a violent shudder in his form.

“You aren’t going to end up happy, you will succeed, both in achieving your dreams and suffering horrible things.”

It's horrible to see him curl into a ball, struggling to breath, a combination of being kneed and bawling his eyes out. Suffering physically, struggling emotionally.

_He needs this kid._

“I don’t won’t to hurt you, but it’s better if it’s me and not an enemy. You beat the defenceless, you taunt the innocent and lead the mean. You’re a villain.”

_Comfort him_

It’s easy to grab his shoulders and bring him into a hug, his head resting against my chest. He doesn’t struggle when the coat is placed on his shoulders, doesn’t fight when a hand holds his hair. He doesn’t resist.

“But you don’t have to be,” his shakes stop, a harsh breath is cut as he looks up. What he perceives, I don’t know, but hopefully it’s something calming. 

“You can be better. You can be a hero. You can do good, and I’m ready to guide and help you. But I need you to be ready to _learn_.”

_Teach him a lesson_

“You’re rigid and unbending in your beliefs, but when rigid things meet resistance, they break. Be flexible, be mouldable, change, develop, shift, learn. I don’t want you to break. I want you to be better.”

The way he slowly sits up, the way he looks at me, a softer look on his tear stained face, shoulders relax, still shaking from slight sobs but relaxed none the less. I turn and move towards the log, sitting on it I see him again. 

He stands tool, his shoulders straight, his stance tight, his face as serious as a five year old can be. He’s focused and ready.

“I don’t know how to be better,” _Acceptance, he’s on the right track, “_ so you better show me how to be Deku,” _it can be improved, but at least he’s willing._

_“_ First lesson,” Patting the log next to me, “Don’t be afraid to be soft, come sit next to me, and enjoy the breeze.”

He takes the first steps forward.

An afternoon that started with a quick and brutal ‘fight’ between the rigid and the experienced, finishes with two children sitting on a log, finding comfort in the breeze and the sun, a new dynamic found in the cover of a red coat and hug.

“Where the fuck did you get your clothes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont know how to feel about this chapter. To me, the entire fic feels a bit rushed and it makes me uncomfortable. Ill probably change it later on, but for now, for now ill enjoy the fact that i've made progress. Any way, this is the end of this arc, next chapter im moving on to something new. Izuku will learn what it truly means to carry a legacy, will find out just how far his quirk can go and, well, plays a tune or two.


	6. The Professional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hancock taught him charm, taught him how to help others, how to be better as a man. Now he learns how to fight. How to eliminate targets. How to be a Professional. How to kill.

Sunday afternoons held a common vision at the Midoriya household. After the usual Sunday breakfast, Izuku would get to work on his routine. First, talking with Hancock for a while, asking questions about nothing and everything, something simple as “How to look for a person ticks?” To “How can I get close enough to someone to shank them?”

Okay, it’s disturbing for a seven year old to ask that, but can you blame him. Next came a bit of light work out. A jog, a few push ups, some squats, a flourish of his knife, imagining a few bandits falling to pieces. Jesus, thinking about it now it _is_ disturbing, even for Izuku. Usually, this would all round up at eight, eight thirty-ish. By this time he would be awake enough to move onto something more peaceful. Piano. When he had asked his mother so long ago, he didn’t realise how gorgeous the feeling would be.The Casio was a modest thing, nothing Grand-

_Heh._

But honestly,it was perfect.Sunday mornings in the Midoriya Household came with the light clack of plastic keys, the tap of foot pedals and the pleasant flow of soft notes intertwined with the sweat as sugar vocalisation of Izukus singing. It had started off as a struggle, as expected, but with some hints from Hancock (lessons he had learnt from Magnolia) and Izukus natural analytical ability, songs came flourishing soon enough. Pre-quirk classics ranging from the 1890’s all the way to the mid 21st century, a human Juke-box began to form.

“I was walking along, minding my business,” a jazzier tune to start this morning, something to help livin’ up the household.

“When out of the orange coloured sky,” getting into the swing of things, Hancock came in to add to the showmanship

“FLASH”

“BAM”

“ALACAZAM”

“WONDERFUL YOU CAME BY.”

Even through the music he could hear Kacchan walk into their humble abode, saying a morning to his auntie Inko, the soft patter of naked feet resisting the desire to tap the floor in a sway of rhythm and beat. 

It was one of Kacchan’s favourite hits.

“I was humming a tune, drinking in sunshine,” the sound of a body collapsing onto blankets and mattress, a gentle sigh released from the usually aggressive kid.

“When out of that orange coloured view,” Kacchan prepared himself.

“FLASH”

“BAM”

“ALACAZAM”

Kacchan claimed he didn’t feel pure joy when he bellowed out the lyrics, but seven year olds aren’t exactly capable of hiding their emotions. Big emotions just too large to be contained din such small bodies.

“One look and I yelled timber,” the sound of popping came into existence. It was a more recent occurrence, Kacchan using his quirk to imitate the drums in certain songs. HE claimed it was for training purposes. I knew it was because he liked the music enough to try and match the tune with his quirk. It was interesting to say the least.

“Watch out for flying glass,”you know someone likes a song when they sing along to it. Kacchan belted out the lyrics with ease. He needed to work on pitch, but I wasn’t perfect either.

“Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out,” An improvised flourish of the keys, “I went into a spin and I started to shout.”

“I’VE BEEN HIT, THIS IS IT,THIS IS IT.”

“IVE BEEN HIT.”

An early stop to the song, but a fine place to finish, at least from the beaming smile on Kacchans face it was.

“And you claim you don’t like singing,” that face that toddlers have when they’ve been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, that specific face, just plastered all over Kacchans face. The shy realisation that you’re not as sneaky as you think you are. But, this one came with a begrudging acceptance. Well, I say begrudging, but it’s closer to the comfort of dropping a heavy bag after reaching your destination. A load off the shoulders.

“Yeah yeah, we gonna spar or not,” fighting, I'd say that it was the only thing Kacchan liked more than my music. That and spicy food but that was closer to third.

Sunday afternoons also came with a sparing session, a few rounds. Nothing as heavy as his first two fights, just light slow movements, repetition to get the basics down. 

One would think a spar with Kacchan would happen at the park. Lessons are best remembered at important locations. But importance comes with rarity, like a favourite meal, it loses its effect when delivered too many times. He’s not teaching him anything new, just making sure he understands.

“Start when you’re ready kacchan.”

The pops begin, rhythmic and loud, louder than their first fights, developed over time to small explosions the size of heads. They hurt, bruising heavily and burning slightly. It would take down pretty much anyone in or slightly above his weight class.

Everyone except Izuku. 

His movements are more fluid, he barely lets his feet touch the ground as he runs, a charge fed by explosions, a technique he learnt a few days into sparing.

His growth is advancing.

He’s getting better.

_It’s time you did too._

The second Katsukis in range, Izuku lunges.One hand grasps his opponents shoulder, a knee follows through.

It never hits.Katsuki had learnt. He leaps up, flipping over Izuku, a blast aimed at his back to knock him down, charring his red jacket. Except all of Izukus jacket is black, a silky shine present on his suit jacket and pants, leather business shoes replacing combat boots. A new outfit. A new legacy.

Kacchan usually has a serious look on his face when we spar, a look that gets tighter and tighter the longer he struggles. Its an issue I’m trying to fix. He’s learnt some things,that its important to have multiple outlets, that its better to lighten up, to treat others as equals and helping those who need it. To not call others extras. I haven’t been able to teach him how to handle a fight, to not break under the pressure.

_It’s not something Hancock has had to deal with._

“Who are you?” The new voice is gravely and stern, serious, reinforced by a pitch expensive black suit. His face is sharp, strong cheek bones and rigid chin, a short beard and longer hair, all black against his slightly tanned face. Hancock was a scoundrel, a man capable of cracking a joke and swaying the hearts of others. This man, he looked like, he felt like, he _is_ a professional.

_Hancock was meant to teach you how to help others, he’s helped you be a person of the people. I’m here to make sure you don’t get killed._

“HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING NEW CLOTHES,” oh, did I get new clothes again.

_Yes, yes you did, something a big stronger than a red coat._

“Doesn’t matter, continue Katsuki” that’s, that’s harsher than it meant to be, and the further shock on Katsuki’s face is proof enough. Why am I calling him Katsuki

_Professional courtesy._

“I don’t think we should.”

“Why’s that?” He’s developed.

_Indeed he has kid._

“You have something new to deal with nerd, and I think that might be more important than a spar”

_Well, won’t ya look at that, he knows when to lay off, good, took a bit longer than expected but hey, progress is progress._

“See you later Deku.” And with that,Kacchan walks off, leaving me with Hancock and…

“You never answered my question.”

The professional lets out a sigh, his straight and serious expression holding firm.

“My names John Wick, and I’m going to teach you how to kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight, the last chapter pushed forward what Izukus primary purpose is, to help others learn to be better. He has this sense of charm and suave, capable of even making stone walls swoon. The next arc... gets a bit rough, less external movement and more internal progress. Heres Wick, and the realisation that when you enter the world, when you dip a toe in the pond, you'll be pulled in.
> 
> So, i feel im going to struggle with this arc. Izuku had Katsuki to bounce off of last time, but this next arc is going to be alot more focused on Izuku learning about the wider world and what fighting actually means, so hopefully you enjoy, but if you dont, tell me why, cause id like to improve.


	7. Facing change, but with some company

People of catholic faith believe in the fate of vocation, that one is born with a desire and base talent in skills given to them by God meant to help them find and best perform their vocation, theirpersonal calling in life. For some this is more true than others. Artists will hold a paint brush or pencil in their hand and find the grip and feel just right, find themselves wishing to do nothing but recreate the world around them and expand out some more. A carpenter will look back and realise that they found true meaning and beauty in wood, the texture, taste and smell digging deep into their soul. A chef will find that food is a way for one to find structure and beauty, they’ll experiment with food, find comfort in the heat of a stove, feel life and excitement with their hands wrapped around a knife.

The cold steel of a gun feels comfortable on Izuku’s skin. The slight weight that pulls his hand down acts more to lift him up. The iron sights on a pistol are a comfortable vision. The smell of gunpowder is sweet and refreshing. The taste of smoke from a barrel lays heavy on his tongue, a warmth filling his soul. The rock of recoil ripples up his shoulders and makes him feel _alive_.

Izuku was born to kill.

The fact that that statement doesn’t make him cringe makes him want to cry.

It’s strange changing so quickly. Just yesterday he walked down the street casually, whistling a sweet tune on his lips, looking at people and thinking “How would I charm them?”.

Now he more easily sees the world, sees people in less of a personal way. He recognises signs. He notices the slight scars on a mans knuckles and how he keeps his shoulders squared. A brawler. He recognises the slick movements of a woman, the slight outline caught between her outer thigh and her dress. A knife fighter. He recognises how the man in black moves around with ease, how the back of his belt jangles a bit too harshly, how the grey fabric around his neck clearly isn’t a scarf, but something more dangerous. An underground hero, in broad daylight.

He sees the world more truely.

He sees the danger on the street.

He realises that none of them could match against him.

Not with Wick in his head.

“Look at the guy jogging around the trail,” Wick pointed towards a man in grey joggers and white sweat shirt, a slightly balding head on top of a tall and lanky body, “What can you pick up on him?”

It's easy to see someone and not give a second look, most people not having anything too interesting on them to even make him give a second glance. But with Wick, he always gave an extra second.

“The way he favours his left leg points to an injury, and the scabs on his knuckles are fresher, maybe a day or two old,” the knowledge is there, scattered in his head. Where once a random thought about how someones quirk could be used for hero work would pop up, or how a mere few weeks back he would wonder about a new song he was learning, now he thought about firing distances, the dangers of C.Q.C against a mutation quirk or how he would best eliminate a crowd of dangerous people surrounding him. His thoughts weren’t as innocent anymore.

It didn’t disturb him, and he didn’t know why.

“Izuku,” he whips his gaze towards the bearded man, “Someone once told me that when you dip your toe back into the pond, something will drag you down,” he stops for a few moments, staring across the park to a distant horizon,”When I joined you, you dipped your toe into this pond, and I dragged you down into it. You got a slither of what it's like to harm a man.”

The errant thought of scared hands and a fearful face popped into Izuku’s thoughts.

“Now, now I’m trying to ease you into what I am, someone that people fear, someone that does the impossible, a man of sheer will and focus,” his monologue ends in a comforting and surprisingly gentle hand on Izuku’s shoulder and a soft look on his face.

“Everyone says they accept change, everyone thinks they can turn away from who they are. I tried to leave my life behind, but the world continued to _drag me back_ into it. I lost the few good things I had, was broken down over and over again,” the serious look he had slowly began to shift to a bittersweet smile, “I realised that it was because I tried to change alone, I lost the person I was closest to, but didn’t realise that there were others out there who were willing to help. Helen, she realised this long before I ever would, and she left me something that would help me in the end.”

A new feeling ended up beneath his hand. Ever since he had met Wick, the most common feeling he felt was steel, aluminium or plastic, the heaviness of a gun ever-present in his weekends and nightly trips to the woods. Now, now he feels fur, soft fur, laid upon loose skin covering the hard skull of an animal.

A dog.

A bulldog, laying underneath his hand.

“He’s a good boy, he and the others will help through your change.’

Just as the sentence came out, two German Shepard looking dogs covered in armoured vests stepped up beside the bench they sat on. Two dogs to guard him, and one to bring him comfort.

“I changed for the most important person in the world, did the impossible to experience a life beside her. When she died, she tried to give me comfort. When it was taken from me, I became the man that many believed I was always meant to be. I was forced to be that man again, and you’re going to be forced to be that man as well. Maybe, maybe we can lesson the pain of that change, but you’ll feel it anyway. I’m sorry, for what is going to happen to you.”

Wick slowly stood, the effects of body broken over and over again present in the pained grunts that came with it.

“Ill be seeing you Izuku,” with that, he vanished, waiting for the next time he would be needed.

With that, Izuku left the park, heading home for dinner.

“Izuku honey, why do you have dogs with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... Im not the proudest about this chapter, like a few others it doesn't feel right. I hope you enjoy it, but if you don't, I understand complete, but i feel like i need to move on to the next... thing? 
> 
> So, dogs, dogs are dope, i wonder why this aspect of the quirk is so interesting.


	8. Learning about his legacy of pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku goes to school and learns, just not in the typical way.

Children with quirks are an interesting thing to deal with. On one hand, a person should allow a child to enjoy what they have, should give them a chance to express themselves in one of the few ways they can. On another hand, a quirk can be a very dangerous thing, something that can easily harm another, hell anyone who’s seen an accidental quirk activation in public can tell you how dangerous it gets. 

Second graders are an interesting collective to deal with. Firstly, they’re beginning to experience shifts in power and responsibility. An increase in homework, class representatives being talked about (even if it's more of an empty title than an actual one), introductions to more interesting subjects. Dealing with excitable children is hard enough, dealing with excitable children when they have super powers, that’s just going to add a degree of difficulty. And when your class contains one Bakugou Katsuki and one Izuku Midoriya, you have to decide for yourself, are you the luckiest teacher on earth, or do you challenge God to a fist fight for damning you.

“Look, Kacchan, if you want to be a hero, I don’t think ‘King Explosion Murder’ is going to be the best name.” Recess, a time spent to relax and eat lunch after morning classes. While some would rush through lunch quickly to try and get in some play time, it was often a time spent by Izuku and Katsuki talking about heroes and quirks. Todays topic, hero names.

And how absolutely horrible Katsuki’s was.

“WHAT DO YA MEAN I- am I disturbing others again?”  


One hand on his shoulder and a comforting glance, “The fact that you realised what you were doing shows improvement,” after that, Izuku turned back to the rice and chicken sat in front of him.

“What about… Lord Explosion Murder,” the smack of a face palm quickly followed that statement.

“Its not the personal ranking that matters Kacchan, it’s the ‘explosion murder’ that’s gonna cause problems… Think about All Might or Endeavour, their names display something about _who_ they are, one is the all mighty symbol of peace, an unrelenting force against evil, the other is a statement, a constant endeavour to be the best, a _desire_ and _striving_ to do the best he can.”

Finishing up his meal before him, he packed up his container and placed his other hand on his friends other shoulder, holding Katsuki to look directly at him.

“A name should display an intent, it should be a promise.”

_Try personal appeal kid._

“Remember when I wore that suit,” a slow nod in reply, “It was worn by a man named John Wick, the Russian mob called him the ‘Baba Yaga’ the bogeyman, he was the monster of the underworld, the unstoppable killer who would take you away in the night. His name was a promise, a display of _intent_. You have to ask yourself, why do you want to be a hero Katsuki?”

With that final statement, he hopped up and began to head towards class, leaving Katsuki with a question that would keep him stumped to answer in a way that felt full-filing, a question that would take a while to reply to.

A few years to be exact.

The average student will complain about school, about subjects they struggle with, other students and the things they do, or just the fact that there are so many other places they could be.

Izuku doesn’t complain about school, he rather likes it, all the interesting things he could learn excite him. They used to at least, before Wick came in. What was the point of learning about division and multiplication when he could calculate bullet drop while taking in the coriolis effect with ease. What was the point of learning grammar and punctuation when he could speak perfect English, Russian, Spanish, Italian, Japanese and French. Whats the point to learning the basics of geography and humanities when he had a strong understanding of world geography and a mastery of human expressionism, when he already understood the human psyche so easily.

He was leagues above the rest of his classmates, a by product of his quirk that he had never really thought about till he was two thirds of the way through second grade, when he got his second term report card, seeing a slew of ’S’ grades across the pages, comment sections filled with overzealous praises of Izuku’s intelligence. 

That didn’t mean he became stagnant in his studies, he worked harder than most in his class, except of course Katsuki, who wanted to catch up to his… friend?

But while most classes were somewhat boring for Izuku, there was one that truly made him happy.

Music. 

God was music an experience.

His teacher for the class was a truly generous woman, who often let him find his own corner room to take Katsuki with him and just _play_. Also, the fact that she often recommended bands and artists from the pre-quirk era was _amazing_.

It was truly the best three periods of his week.

Heavy piano chords brought in groupings of three began to play out

“It’s been like a year since I’ve-“  


“Are you really playing that depressing crap ya nerd”

The clicking of changing settings and tonality, a swift swapping of backing tracks, finally the quick chain of melodic and gentle notes played, and a moment later.

“I still watch you when you’re grooving, as if the water from the bottom of a pool-“

The loud pop of Katsuki’s quirk came.

“Something more exciting, something that doesn’t make me want to sleep.”

With two songs being abruptly cut off due to Bakagou’s… requests, Izuku decided that it was time to change to something more… [energy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=htgr3pvBr-I).

Changing the tone of the piano once again, Midoriya began playing a set of chords in quick succession, a succession that got a happy “Finally” to fall from Katsuki’s mouth, followed by slow explosions coming from a rounded hand, making a bass tone, the other wide open releasing quick and sharp bangs. Another set of slower power chords was played by Izuku to replace the songs guitar.

The lyrics came from Katsuki.

“It’s not in the way that you hold me, It’s not in the way you say you care.”

The vision of a man holding a women as she crumbles near the waters edge.

“It’s not in the way you’ve been treating my friends.”

A funeral cascaded in rain.

“It’s not in the way you stayed till the end.”

A puppy and a car, taken from him.

“It’s not in the way you look or the things that you say that you’ll do.”

_Carnage_

_“_ Hold the Line.”

The rampage of a broken man, a professional, a monster.

“Love isn’t always on time.”

A bar, a bank, a warehouse, filled with blood.

“Hold the line.”

A fight in the rain, a stab that tears itself into Izuku.

“Love isn’t always on time.”

The images of an Italian man making demands, the quake of an explosion that singes.

“It’s not in the words that you told me, girl.”

Murdering a woman in a bath.

“Its not in the way you say you’re mine, ooh”

A slaughter in a tomb.

“It’s not in the way you came back to me.”

A charge through a hall of mirrors.

“It’s not in the way your love set me free.”

A subway fight.

“It’s not in the way you look or the things that you say that you’ll do.”

Seven bullets from a king.

“Hold the line.”

Fury. A horde of men.

“Love isn’t always on time.”

Anger. Breaching the hotel.

“Hold the line.”

A rising rage.

“Love isn’t always on time.”

A single bullet through THE BASTARDS HEAD.

_Johnathan, what have you done._

_Finished it._

One hour, no guns, no energy, nothing to let him get by. 

One group, then another, a never ending horde of enemies. 

Knife fights, horses, making his way to his first home. 

He feels as a burnt cross is placed upon his back. 

He releases his marker, another horde of enemies, helped by a woman and her dogs. 

Near death in a desert, the feeling ofhis finger being sliced off, the burn of cauterisation. 

Facing a new enemy, fighting tooth and nail to reach the hotel. 

Facing the man he needs to kill, but standing his ground, to fight the high table. 

A wave of un-killable men, a brawl with skilled assassins, beating a man who thinks he’s in Wick’s league. 

A roof top, the feeling of shots blasting themselves into his body, falling, crashing, colliding with the pavement. 

Receiving help from the king, ready and waiting to face the world once again.

He feels every shot, stab, punch, kick, every injury Wick took, he felt it upon his body.

Some, placed upon his skin forever.

_This is what it means to be me._

“It’s not in the words that you told me.”

_Everything I have suffered, you will come to suffer._

“Its not in the way you say you’re mine.”

_I am a guide, a teacher._

“Its not in the way you came back to me.”

_You know my pain, and are stronger for it._

“It’s not in the way that your love set me free.”

_You will suffer more, and I am sorry._

“It’s not in the way you look or the things that you say that you’ll do.”

_This is my legacy._

“TEACH, TEACHER, IZUKU’S BLEEDING.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a solid while, purely cause I am a lazy shmuck. For those wondering, the first two songs Izuku was trying to play were Nothing but Thieves: Particles and Hozier's: Movement, both of which are in my 'chill' playlist.
> 
> If you have anything to say, just say it, I've told someone already that i wont get offended, and I'm just trying to improve my writing. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed.


	9. Recovery and whats to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku comes back from his surgery, learns a modicum of whats to come and dreams of his future.

Wounds are something that Hancock and Wick have become long time acquaintances with. Hancock remembers days of back ally brawls and fighting raiders, of traversing the wasteland, fighting creatures no man should fight alone. Wick remembers his earliest days, when he took jobs more sparingly, and how it lead to the myth he was, fighting entire mobs and gangs by himself, eventually the high table itself. They had learnt how to cope with pain, how to stitch a cut, how to remove a bullet, how to fight through a concussion. All of this came from experience.

Izuku was seven, nearly turning eight, the worst before this was a slight singing or a scraped knee.

He was in surgery for thirty five hours, dealing with bullets wounds, stabs, cuts, broken bones, fractured limbs, a snapped spine for gods sake. 

The accumulative injuries of John Wicks life placed upon a seven year olds body.

Scars littered his pale skin, none more prominent than the small, burnt cross placed between his shoulder blades. 

For what this child had suffered, he kept silent, both before, during and after surgery.

He awoke to white walls, a mother and friend sleeping with a tear stained faces, and both Johns standing at the end of his bed, looking on with knowing gazes and sad faces.

“Do you feel any pain when you extend your leg?”

“No,” minutes after waking up, Izuku found himself being checked up by one of the doctors who had done surgery on him, questions of ‘Can you do this’ and ‘does it hurt to do this,' to see if he still had access to his motor functions.

“Remarkable,” the scratching of pen on paper followed soon after, along with a few comments put on Izuku’s medical file.

“Mrs Midoriya, it appears that your son has no side effects from both his wounds or his surgery, his fine motor functions appear to be working and no lingering pains appear to exist, in all intents and purposes, you son appears to be as fit as he was before the incident.”

The shock on his mothers face was beginning to become a more common occurrence when it came to things surrounding his quirk, though in this instance it was deserved.

Worry and horror filled her voice, “B-But there was so much blood, he’s covered in scars, he didn’t even react to anything.”

“I know, Mrs Midoriya, but I’m beginning to think it’s a part of your sons quirk, a part of the process.”

_Doc’s pretty smart, got it in one._

_“_ I’ve never really seen a quirk like Izuku's, but recents events are somewhat comparable to quirk backlash, and cases of quirks causing pain to the owner when they first appear are somewhat common, as long as we make sure he gets proper medical attention if it happens again, there more than likely won’t be any problems.”

“HE BLED OUT.”

“And he survived and is as healthy, if even healthier, than someone his age should be,” he paused for a moment as he let at a sigh, “Mrs Midoriya, your son’s quirk… it’s extraordinary, and I fully believe that it's what allowed him to survive what he had survived, and I believe that it will allow him to many, many more things. As he is, he’s perfectly fit and capable of going home.”

She waited a few seconds to reply, calming herself down to think over everything that had been said.

“Okay, okay, we’re going home Izuku.”

He found himself laying on his bad for most of the day, sorting through memories of Wicks life, the man in mention cleaning, pulling apart and putting back together his collection of guns, the clicking and sliding of metal contrasting with the humming of Hancock as he floated through another high.

  
“Im going to suffer worse, aren’t I,” the gradual stops of both Johns was more than enough of an answer to his question for him, but the Johns still went to reply.

“One more time kid,as far as we know, it’s only going to happen one more time,” Hancock answer, small vapour trails falling from his mouth after his last Jet hit.

“It’s going to be worse,” stone cold as usual was Wick’s reply as he turned towards Izuku.

The room fell back in silence as Midoriya laid still in the response, letting the thoughts of what could be worse than both the loss and pain these men had experienced fill his head. The feeling of fur and loose skin once again found itself under his hand, a small whine from the bulldog he had found recent acquaintance with.

“I don’t want this pain,” he held the dog closer to him, letting him lay across his chest, “But I know it’s necessary.”

Hancock reached into the pocket of his jacket as he moved towards Izuku’s bed, a hand wrapped around a red inhaler.

“It doesn’t get rid of it, but it’ll help ease it for now,” a sad chuckle fell from the ghouls mouth, “At least you don’t suffer the negative side effects.”

He raised the inhaler to his mouth, lips puckered around the vent. He held his thumb against the canister, pressing against the slight force from the pressure. The vapour felt cold against his tongue, a torrent of chill began to sweep through his lungs. As he let it wash through his system, he felt his fingers and toes tingle, the muscles in his legs and arms loosening even more, the tensions leaving his body as his visioned sharpened and blurred at the same time, the world slowing around him.

In what sounded like an elongated groan, Wick spoke to him, “Sleep for now Midoriya, we’ll help in any way we can, we’ll prepare you for what’s to come.”

As the words washed over him, he pet the fur of his companion, every single hair being felt against skin that was too sensitive to the world. The world began to darken around him, the sounds slowed, the colours distorted but ever more vibrant bleached into his vision. He dreamt that night of snippets of a story.

He saw a man as he road off into the woods, a fur cloaked draped across his shoulders, of a white wolf padding next to him. As the doors of a fort closed behind him, the wind picked up, a wash of white spread across his vision, flakes sending a chill through his body.

That night he dreamt of the cold.

He dreamt of a clash of kings.

He dreamt of a storm of swords.

He dreamt of winter winds.

He dreamt of a dance of dragons.

He dreamt of a game of thrones.

That night, Izuku dreamt of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the Wick arc, and obviously by the tags and the end of this chapter, the next arc should be easy to determine. I wanted to try and extend Wicks arc to five chapters, to try and match Hancocks, but i feel that this is a more fitting conclusion to it. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you didn't, tell me why so I can improve.
> 
> Also, i told him i would do it, so I would like to mention Darth Peezy's work The Dark Bellow which is truly an astonishing piece that stands among my favourite stories, something that i have read through completely at three different times. It's partly what inspired me to start writing and is deserving of more praise than i will ever be able to give it. If you have a love of Lovecraftian horror, philosophy, geopolitical and sociopolitical conflicts and a few extra hours on hand (Probably a weekend) then I recommend you read it. 
> 
> Next time, Izuku learns to Brood.


	10. Winter is here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku begins to learn of his third legacy.

Winter was a beautiful time for many. For those who loved the outdoors, they got to experience white landscapes as far as the eye could see, green pastures contrasting with snowy skies. For those who loved the indoors, a nice, warm cup of coco as they gathered around the campfire or snuggled together on the couch, watching tv or sharing quiet moments. Winter was beautiful for many reasons.

For Izuku, it would be different.

He was stood out in the forest, snow stacked to his shins as he practiced his aim in the clearing. Cheeks reddened by the cool breeze, fingertips numb as he grasped the silenced pistol in his hand. He felt the recoil as it jammed through his arms, the collecting snow shaking off his jumper. The trees covered in paper targets, outlines of torsos littered with bullets, hearts and head littered with bullets.

As he turned around to look at the targets behind him, he caught a shape in the corner of his eye. A wolf, a rather large wolf. Many would have missed it, its white fur hiding it well in the snow. He had seen it from practice, catching details that would cause alarm. It was the blood red eyes that pulled his attention. 

Silent, the clearing was silent, no longer was the pfft of the silencer heard as the boy and wolf stared down each other. Even as the wolf turned around and walked away, the snow not making a noise as he followed behind it.

A few minutes later he entered a new clearing, a small lake covered in a layer of steam before him. The surrounding area was covered in trees with red leaves, the bark an off-set white, similar to the colours of the wolf. Said wolf slowly found its way beneath one of the trees, a tree with a crying face carved into its bark, the eyes leaking sap, as if it were crying. 

It slowly lay its body next to a man sitting on a stump just underneath the crying tree. His black, curly hair laid against his shoulders, joining his beard and moustache in framing a sharp face, making it hard to tell where the fur of his cloak started and his hair ended. Grey eyes stared intently at his blade, his hand dragging an oiled rag over the rippled grey steal in a repetitive motion, the wolfs head pommel of the sword resting against his cheek. The colour black was everywhere across him, his cloak, his padded leather jerkin, his boots and pants, all of it a deep rooted black, bringing images of a raven or crow to Izuku’s mind.

Midoriya walked towards him, finding that every step closer brought his attention to more things, such as how truly enormous the wolf, no, the _dire-wolf_ was, or how the man seemed to be saying something underneath his breath, praying quietly to his old gods. 

Every step brought a new title to his mind, bastard, crow, lord commander, white wolf, king of the north. Each and every title held itself in his head as he asked his most important question for the third time.

“Who are you?” 

The man slowed his already slow movements, the blade finding itself inside a sheath, the wolf beside him stood on its leg, just smaller than a horse, easily towering over Izuku. Together they looked towards Midoriya, the mans hands resting on the wold pommel and _Ghosts_ head.

“My name is Jon Snow.”

The words washed over him, their weight meeting that of the black clock now laid upon his shoulders, his jumper and wool gloves replaced with padded leather jerking and gloves, sweatpants and sneakers gone and in their places britches and shin high boots. Finally, he found a sleight weight present against his hip, a smaller version of Longclaw strapped to his belt.

The now named Northerner stood in front of Izuku. In one smooth motion, he unsheathed his blade, the point stuck slightly into the earth as he kneeled before the ten year old, his head in line with Midoriya’s.

“I am here to guide you, to teach you, to help you be better than me.”

Slowly the clearing began to change, the red leaves of surrounding trees fading to a dark green, the ashen bark seeping into dark browns. The water lost its heat, as the steam billowed away and ice began to form. The only thing that stayed, the crying tree, its sap tears dripping ever slowly.

“A few years back, I asked Wick and Handcock about my future, I asked if I was going to suffer again,” he stopped for a few moments, his gaze turning towards the now frozen lake, “They said I was going to suffer once more, that it would be worse than the pain felt in both their lives.”

He wrapped his arms around the kneeling mans body. His head pressed against Jon’s shoulder, a small tear dripping down his now warm cheek.

“I don’t know what you had to live through, but I’m sorry that you did.”

He felt as two arms now found their way around his body, holding him closer.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry that you will feel my pain to. I’m sorry that you’ll feel and see the life I’ve lived,” the reply came from a voice that was filled with too much sorrow for a man so young as Snow, a voice so soft from a man who held so much presence.

The two let go of each other, Snow wiping the errant tear off of Midoriyas cheek.

“What do we do now?”

“For now, we just enjoy the silence, for it might be the last time we truly can.”

With that, the king in the north led his young ward and wolf towards the crying tree. They sat and lent against its wood, their sight filled with the presence of a frozen lake leading towards a seemingly never ending forest. The day slowly swept away as the pair brooded over the coming future, searching for hope that maybe, just maybe, they would find peace in the end.

Sadly, I can't say if they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried so hard to make this chapter a quieter one than usual. I wanted something serene, with a hint of bittersweetness at the end. I think I pulled it off, but if you believe this chapter can be bettered, pleased tell me how, as usual I want to try and improve so critique it if you want to or feel the need to.
> 
> Last chapter I mentioned that Darth Peezy was an inspiration for me, this chapter, I would like to mention RogueDruid who's work Locked in Digital finds itself among my personal favourites, and would recommend it to anyone who wants something that can pull of a similar concept to my fic but in a superior way.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and next time, Izuku begins to understand that the hero isn't always thanked.


	11. Lessons taught in rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku discusses titles with snow and teaches a few children a lesson.

Izuku was a person of colour, found in how his colours slowly developed over the years. When Izuku was small, one saw his green hair and eyes and associated him with emerald. When he grew, red and blue seeped into his clothing, a red coat and navy blue denim jeans often found upon his person. When he turned seven, his clothing became more sleek, more pristine, more professional. An eight-year-old in a black suit and turtleneck or a button-up white shirt and vest is a strange sight, but an acceptable one. When Izuku turned ten, he oft’ found a fur cloak placed upon his shoulders, a heft that kept him warm in the winter. In summer, he took it off and found himself in dark coats and white cotton shirts. Did he always wear the clothes of his predecessors, no, but they influenced his style so easily. Loose coats and tight jeans, fine suits and high-class pants, leather jackets and fur accents, it melded so easily into his daily life.

Style is important when someone makes their presence known, it’s why he so easily draws attention to himself.

Some of it not so good.

———————————————————————————————————————————

School had been simple for Izuku for quite some time, the past few years blurring together as he got used to his quirk and how it changed him. For most, a quirk was something they played with errantly, for others it took a role in their life, helping guide them. For a minority, for a select few, it helped define them. Heroes, it was something he’d been tangling with for quite some time, his best friend had been claiming he wanted to be number one since he got his quirk. Izuku had directed his attention from gaining a rather empty title towards finding true purpose in the role.

_ “Why do you want to be a hero Katsuki?” _

Even after so long the question rumbled in both their heads. For Izuku, he often asked a variation of it.

“Should I be a hero?”

The piano room was empty, the instrument laid in front of him as he played simple rifts and progressions, notes and chords lingering in the air around him.

“What is a hero?”

If he wasn’t discussing topics with Katsuki, he was discussing them with the people in his head. Right now, he was discussing the topic with Jon Snow, the lord commander.

“People have called me a hero, just as many have damned me. I have given my life to an order that was once considered an honourable collective, but now its spit upon as a penal colony, a place for murders, rapists and thieves.”

He’d glimpsed upon Jon’s life in dreams, in figments of memory and shattered moments. Most of it was day to day, working on the wall, patrolling, stewarding for Jeor Mormont. He’d been told that he hadn’t seen the things that defined Jon’s legacy, that he’d watch them slowly instead of instantly.

“When you join the watch, you pledge yourself to it. I am the sword in the darkness, I am the watcher on the wall, I am the shield that guards the realms of men.”

To Izuku, such an oath seemed like a heroes oath, an oath to fight evil in the world, an oath to watch over the land he protected, an oath to guard the innocent. 

“So why was it treated like a jail.”

He knew it was filled with people who should have been sentenced to prison for life or should have received some form of punishment for their crimes.

“I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. When you join the nights watch, you serve for life. A life of sacrifice and servitude, all for no gain of your own. The only person who is remembered is the lord commander, but not even I know the name of the lord commander who came before Jeor.”

“So, people choose it over other punishment.”

A once-glorious collective, respected and reserved as honourable and fearless, distorted and twisted till it became a prison of its own making.

“Aye, a place for bastards, cripples, murders, rapists and thieves.”

The soft sounds of Izuku’s piano playing filled the air, a simple melody pulled from songs he had recently committed himself to play. His music teacher had been giving him CD’s she had made from bands and artists she loved and a few records she scrounged together to present as a present to her prize student.

The soft melody of a more sombre artist began to play. The guitars, as usual, were replaced by his keys. A slow twinkling riff began to resonate through the room, the lead being pushed forward for a few moments. Eventually, the rhythm began to kick in with slow and delicate chords, a quiet back up to the more memorable lullaby-esque lead. Radiohead had quickly begun to be a favourite of his, No surprises a more relaxing track for him.

“Why did you willingly go there?”

The way snows brooding posture slanted even more steeply was enough of an indication that he hadn’t wanted to, or at least in hindsight, he realised he didn’t.

“I was raised by a man of honour, someone who taught me that the Night’s Watch was a place where someone like me could gain some form of respect.”

“So you went because you had nowhere else. Why couldn’t you stay with Ned?”

“His wife hated me, believed that I would take everything her children owned, that I was a lesser man because my mother was someone else. I am a bastard, that’s all I was to her.”

The sombre melody filled the space between them, matching the sadness stricken face of Jon.

Time slowly passed as lunch went on, songs beginning and ending, his free period coming ever closer to an end. He would be allowed to stay in here for the next period, music is more or less a time for him to play freely, it pretty much had been since the day he learnt Wick’s legacy.

“They call Wick the Baba Yaga and Hancock the mayor of Good Neighbour, how can you have so many titles connected you.”

Jon moved from the wall he was leaning against, taking light footsteps towards the seat Izuku sat on. It creaked slightly beneath their weight, the man and child sitting so closely together to fit.

“A title is worn by a man to display who he is, in your world, you have heroes with their names. A title defines who we are, what our place in life is. I haven’t truly found what defines me.”

The sharp ring of a bell cut through piano keys and spoken words, ending the quiet of the piano room they sat in.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Children aren’t exactly socially conscious, slight nuances in speech and action can fly over their heads. The use of a word they don’t understand, a shove or touch that earlier would have been playful or funny but is now dangerous to act upon. Most children simply don’t have the required experience to understand what they’re doing. Some simply just don’t care. That’s when the children stop being innocent.

Children playing tag turns into a few of the older kids shoving around some of the younger ones. A few ‘Yo Mama’ jokes turn into ‘Your mothers a whore’.

A child becomes a bully.

It wasn’t something he had to deal with often, no one wanted to mess with a kid who survived what he had. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t step in when someone else was getting jerked around, like right now. Two kids, clearly younger than him, surrounded by a group of teens with stubble already growing heavily on their skin.

Sixteen-year-olds picking on children several years younger than them.

Sad really.

“Gentleman, we wouldn’t be having any trouble here, now would we,” He could feel the jacket land on top of his uniform, the crimson striking against hair that had been growing darker and darker over time.

Eight heads swivelled towards him, six teens looking down at him with ease.

“And if we did, what would ya do about it?” A boy with scales on his neck and arms, easily a foot taller than him, asked sarcastically. The others took a step or two from the two children, twins by how the similar grey hair and eyes.

Izuku liked quirks, it was a very simple matter. Before, he liked to theorise their ability to help in heroics, how they could help and protect others. Now, he was thinking about if ripping the scales off would be enough of a deterrent, or how one of the smaller teens would feel with fingers jammed in his gills.

The smile fell upon his face easily, his shoulders loosening, his back straightening, confidence running in his system, “I’d merely ask you to stop, after all, where’s the fun if there ain’t no challenge.”

He could feel his usual tools slip into his hands, the wooden grip comfortable in his right hand, the glass container of psycho-jet slipping in his left. The shift in the group's stances was quick, feet spreading in in-experienced stances and fists clenching. The very obvious shift in one's muscles, expanding slightly and turning his skin slightly red. The cracking of joints as small bolts of electricity bounced off his skin. The one with gills prepared slightly sharper than normal nails, while another raised fists with iron knuckles, his elbows cast in steel. Finally the middle two, a boy with more fur than hair and the lizard prick from the beginning.

“What if we decided to have fun with you instead,” clearly lizard prick was the leader. Fun.

“I’d recommend agitating the gravel friend, don’t wanna make a mess of this place,” a gravel lot near the school but away from ninety-five per cent of the students and teachers. The last five per cent, most of them were gone, but he could glimpse a few interested gazes looking their way. The two children had quickly run off but were close enough to watch.

_ I don’t think smooth-talking is gonna work kid. _

Izuku could feel the tension in the air, lingering around as he faced the group. Of course, it wasn’t needed, he was barely interested in them.

_ Aye, this might help more. _

The handle of Hancock's dagger left his hand, replaced by the hilt of Longclaw, the Valyrian Steel weighing barely twice that of his knife. The bastard blade quickly draws the attention of the boy’s before him, a few uncertain looks passing over. Except for the lizard prick.

“Now now,” the smug teen said, “I suggest you give that here, you wouldn’t want to hurt anyone,” a greedy glint appeared in his eye, his arm raised, demanding the sword.

He felt Jon standing next to him, his hand on placed gently on Izuku’s shoulder.

“The most important lesson that Lord Stark ever taught me, was that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.”

Three moments passed through his mind then. The instance of a boy barely older than the ones before him, telling Lord Stark of monsters beyond the wall, repenting for his mistakes and understanding he did wrong, accepting his fate. The instance of a balding and snivelling weasel, a man not worth his salt as he begged for mercy after he spat in Jon’s face, a man that disgusted him in several ways. Finally, he glimpsed a group of four, three men and a boy. He felt the seething of the child, the raw hatred he felt. He felt respect for one of the men, as he held his head high, not begetting the decisions he made. He barely felt anything for the other two, nothing drawing his attention towards them besides the betrayal had a hand in.

“I'm not killing them, it would hardly be appropriate,” six boys who had barely experienced life, who’s chins had merely spatterings of hair, with voices that would still go deeper, who couldn’t even perceive how insignificant their actions truly are.

“It's not about killing, it’s about duty. If you believe these boys have committed something and have decided to pass their sentence, then it is your duty to punish them.”

He felt a slight burning in his chest, something similar to before he had felt Wick’s legacy, but the searing was more dull, lingering in his skin.

“If you aren’t going to step down,” he stabbed the needle into his leg and raised the sword before him, “Then I’ll have to step up.”

The lizard prick opened his mouth for the final time.

“Beat him.”

Just as the red-skinned boy charged forward, his motions appearing slow from the jet, Snow slipped a sheath onto his sword.

_ Ring his head in like a bell. _

Izuku shifted his feet, his waste turning as he stepped to the right of his attacker. His arms barely felt the weight as his blade swung across, the covered steel striking heavily against the skull of his foe. As the blade passed the teens head, he turned his wrists and swung up, hurling the blade into the boy’s gut.

The slowing of the jet faded out as the red-skinned teen fell to the floor, bile lunging from his mouth as he groaned out, a bruise already swelling on his skull.

“WHOS… NEXT...” The psycho induced growl slipped off his tongue, a roaring rage flooding through his system, a powerful crash hitting after the high of Jet.

Knuckles and gills ran forward next, the prior with a raised fist while his fishy friend ran hunched, his claws behind him.

A swift upwards slice slammed into the first, teeth chipping painfully as the sheath rocked his jaw and knocked him back, blood and spittle gushing from his mouth with ease. Izuku brought the blade around, the moment of the first hit quickly adding to the force of a blow aimed at his opponent's right knee, a loud pop bursting out as the blade dislocated the knee with ease.

Izuku spun with the increasing momentum, the weapon in his hands turning as the flat of his blade clotheslined the fish man, his body flying forward as gravel and sediment tore his bare skin.

Three injured bodies littered around him, Izuku stepped towards the now frightened teens in front of him. Small triplets of blood clung to the leather of his sheath as he held it before him, gravel crunching ever so slightly underneath his light footsteps as he walked forwards.

The fur-covered teen dashed away, hands scrounging through the floor as he ran on all fours, fear-stricken in his posture. It was stopped by the quick throw of Hancock's dagger, the blade sinking into the thigh of his leg, the limb giving out and leading to his body tumbling through the sediment of the lot.

The final two began to move back with haste, a sense of dread flooding their systems as the predator before them prowled forward, his blade held in one hand as it pointed forward.

“I've been taught several lessons in my life so far,” the words came from a voice that sounded so similar to the beginning of the confrontation, smooth and joking, but this voice held something more. Vitriol. “But the one I’ll teach you is one that I wasn’t taught but rather learnt from glimpsing the lives of others,” the boy with electricity covered hands made a mad dash forward.

He grasped onto Izuku’s face, his hands glowing as living lighting was jolted through Midoriya. Izuku’s merely cocked an eyebrow as his grin lifted more. The crack of a broken eye socket sounded out as the wolf head pommel of Longclaw smashed against the teen's skull. His body hit the floor like his friends.

With only one person left, Izuku took slow and deliberate steps forward, the crunching gravel being overshadowed by the sounds of groaning and crying.

Mere feet laid between the final two fighters, Izuku standing tall as the scaled fellow before him tripped.

“Consequences, every man must face the consequences of the actions he takes. The two children you chose as your prey, they face unfortunate consequences when they entered this lot. I’m facing the consequences of placing myself in your path.”

Izuku now stood before the teen. He could see as tears rushed from the frightened eyes of his victim. He could feel the shaking of adrenalin-charged muscles as he placed his foot on the boy’s ankle.

“And you,” a sudden stomp as ankle bones were snapped in half, the deafening scream of a boy in pain. Izuku grabbed the sheathed blade of his sword, he raised his weapon high above his head, wielding Longclaw like one would wield a bat, “You and your friends face the consequences of not leaving when you had the chance.”

One final swing, the dire wolf pommel collided with the skull of his final opponent, his cries of pain being cut off by being knocked out.

He lifted his foot from his final victim and looked around him. He could glimpse a few horrified looks from a speckling of observers, a few fellow students who had heard the commotion and decided to see what it was about. He could still hear the whimpering of his opponent, sobs racking from conscious bodies and groans came from the unconscious.

As Snow’s sword faded away along with his rage, three syringes filled with thick, red liquid sprung into his hand.

“These are Stimpak’s, they allow a person to completely recover from their injuries, they reset broken bones, stitch together cuts and lacerations, de-swell bruising in one's skin. Scars will be left, but it’s a small price to pay for salvation. I can only make three a day before I start pushing myself beyond a safe point. Let this re-enforce the lesson I have taught you, every man must face the consequences of his actions.”

He turned towards the group behind him, the collection of broken and beaten teens. A sense of Disappointment and depression laced his voice and placed the medicine before his feet.

“Decide upon yourself who  _ needs _ these the most, and face the consequences of those decisions.”

With his piece said, Izuku turned away from the gravel lot, the crunching laying heavy upon. His shoulders, the thoughts of errant actions running through his head over and over again. 

“Did you need to teach that lesson as harshly as you did nerd?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in over two weeks, which is partly because ive been stuck and partly because work and uni are starting up. That being said, I mainly blame my laziness (Which is pretty much saying "Im a lazy shit"), and decided to say fuck it and wrote this chapter. Its longer than usual, twice the length of other chapters and thats mainly due to it being more like two seperate chapters, but i felt like they should be together.
> 
> Anyway, if you didnt like it, tell me why, i want to improve. If you did, why not read my other two fics, you could probably clear them out in an hour or two. 
> 
> Next time, Izuku glimpses another part of Snow's story.
> 
> Also, for you ASOIAF fans, ill be using a mix of the show and books, mainly up to season six of the show (I loathe season seven and eight, and several of my favourite plot lines and characters were cut out or ruined so Im cutting it to season six), but with some references to the books (Fingies being burnt and hints at magic).
> 
> So yeah


	12. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A detention room chat and Jon snows past

Every man must face the consequences of his actions eventually, how you face the outcomes presented to you is completely up to the man you are. One can cower away, blame others for their actions, claim they had no part, run away and hide in the deep, dark crevices of the world. Or, you can stand tall, face forward with an understanding of what must be done. Acceptance is often seen as weakness, for it is associated with laying down and letting the world beat upon your body. Acceptance is never truly weakness, for acceptance relies upon one seeing a situation and understanding the outcome of doing so. Accepting a just punishment for a crime is a wise decision, accepting an unjust punishment for a crime  _ can  _ be brave if one is to do so unflinchingly. Being able to accept the consequences for one's actions is a trait that so few truly have. Being able to admit when you are wrong is a trait even less likely seen in the world.

Midoriya was a perfect person, he had flaws aplenty, but he could admit when he was wrong when he made a bad decision in a situation. He could admit when he went too far.

It’s why he was comfortable sitting in his school's detention hall until four PM every day for the next month. It was a pretty light punishment all things considered, nowhere near as harsh as the punishment given to the six boys he fought.

After all, fighting Izuku was as harsh a punishment as one could receive.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Isolation is a strange situation to find yourself in. On one hand, a quiet room can be comforting, a place where one can be comfortable with their owns thoughts. On the other hand, a quiet room can be stifling, a place where one has to confront their own thoughts.

Izuku didn’t really have to deal with his own thoughts, he could bounce them against a collection of voices within his own head.

“Told you you didn’t need to be so harsh, nerd.”

Well, the voices and Bakugou, who had cussed in front of a teacher just so he could be in the same room as Izuku during detention.

“Afterwards Katsuki, you told me afterwards. In fact, you questioned me, so don’t try to argue anything,” the statement was finished with the sound of an oil rag landing on his desk, being put aside as he finished cleaning Longclaw.

“And I could have easily been harsher, a few broken bones and chipped pride is a small price to pay,” the Valyrian blade was quickly sheathed and given back to Jon, which he then strapped next to his own blade.

“Yeah, but why not tell the teachers, or just talk them out of it. You’ve easily talked me out of doing dumb shit before,” Bakugou’s gaze drifted down, memories of mistakes being made quickly passing his mind.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you can’t look a person in their eyes as you kill them, then they don’t deserve to die.”

“It was a group of ‘bullies’ and a pair of kids, you should’ve grabbed a teacher.”

“And in the future, it’ll be a villain assaulting a civilian, and there won’t be time to grab a hero.”

Katsuki quickly looked towards Izuku in that moment, a sullen look on his face.

“You're not going to be a hero?”

Was he? A hero was a subjective thing. Hancock can be seen as a hero, but the first time he met his lover, he stabbed a man in the street. Wick isn’t really a hero, but he removes gangs and assassins from the world like today's heroes, though he does so more brutally. And then there’s Snow, the white wolf. Damned and condemned for his birth by some, hated for his ‘fathers’ actions by others. A man who swore his life to help others, only to be beaten and bled for his decisions.

Was he going to be a hero?

“Yes, just not the type you’re going to be,” It was a forlorn realisation, one that would lead to outcomes that Izuku hadn’t fully comprehended yet, tasks and pathways that he would be known for in years to come.

But for now, he just needed to get through detention.

“If you don’t think you’re going to be a hero like me, then can you make sure I become the hero I’m supposed to be”

“What do you think I’ve been the past few years Katsuki?”

“Beating me black and blue,” that quickly lifted the mood, a smile shared between two friends as they let out chuckles.

———————————————————————————————————————————

He looked upon the training yard of Castle Black, watching as nights watchmen went about their day. The cold chill of snow would have made him shiver months ago, but the cold had slowly begun to sweep away, acting more as a gentle breeze rather than the billowing wind it was.

The clash of steel in the courtyard alerted him to the training Snow was giving to some of his fellow  _ crows _ . He watched as a boy, barely older than himself, walked towards Jon.

_ Olly _

He watched and listened as Jon taught them about wildling fighting styles, about how easily they dropped and changed weapons, how they could get in close and kill you before you knew it. He watched and listened as he brought the boy close

“Raise your shield or I’ll ring your head like a bell” smiles landed on their faces easily.

“I loved that boy,” He was used to his teachers sneaking up on him, teaching lessons out of the blue, revealing the truths of the world to him. The Jon next to him was older, colder, more experienced than the one fighting with his brothers, “I loved him like a brother, loved him like Bran, someone I could teach and protect.”

He remembered just before the fight when Jon had taught him a lesson he learnt from his father.

“I’m sorry”

“If it was just Allister and some others, it wouldn’t have been so painful. Death is something every man faces, it's inevitable. I respected him, he was a dick but he committed himself to the watch, did he always do the right thing, I can’t say, right is subjective, but he had reasons that I could understand and respect. But Olly, Olly was what hurt. When you look into a man's face as you kill him, you’re accepting that he deserves to die. I looked into his face and found nothing but scorn. I understand why he was angry, I nearly broke my oaths for something similar. But I didn’t, cause a decision made from emotions can lead to mistakes.”

He could feel the searing in his chest again, the filling of skin splitting and blood dripping.

“I'm going to experience it.”

The leather gloves on his shoulders were a familiar feeling, a comforting presence. The arms wrapping around him into a hug was even more pleasant.

“You will, it will hurt more than most, but surviving it, surfing it will make you stronger in the end.”

“Why don’t we get some training done before you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, its been a month since i've updated my stories, thats kinda weird. Okay, I started uni a month ago, which i love, most of my classes are enjoyable, im handling the content and assignments and have kept up to date on my readings, even met a few people that I enjoy having conversations with. That being said, i havent really been able to write for my three babies, and when i try im stumped, and my mind keeps jumping to the different AU's that i want to try, especially a 'captain america' type of izuku. So yeah, i got this update, its not the best chapter but i feel its a nice little continuation of last chapter.
> 
> So yeah, if you like the story so far, thanks for reading, if theres something you dont like, tell me, im trying to improve. Thanks


	13. Proper confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku deals with a problem and starts a case file. Damn that case file.

One point two million.

Without context, it doesn’t mean much, its an abstract number floating around in your head because you barely glimpsed it. One million dollars is life-changing for 99.9% of the population, for the other 0.1%, it's pocket change. One million people is a fairly large amount, though the population of china in the pre-quirk era was one hundred times said amount. Humans by modern standards have barely existed for two hundred thousand years, but the earth has been around for four and a half billion years.

One point two million is either a small or a large number, it just depends on the context.

Before the pre-quirk era, in twenty eighteen to be exact, one point two million violent crimes were committed in the united states of America, meaning one in three hundred people committed a violent crime. Depending on who you ask, that’s either a small amount or too many.

When quirks began to develop, this number jumped quickly, it’s near impossible to find actual statistics due to this sudden social development. If someone pulls a trigger, it’s because they’re shooting at something, but if a quirk goes off in public, it might be by accident. When heroes came around, this number fluctuated, some years it jumped, some years it dived.

Why is this all so important, you may ask?

A crime is only recorded if someone is there to witness it.

Izuku has witnessed a few crimes in his lifetime, it’s a common occurrence with villains popping up all the time.

Izuku hadn’t been a victim till he was ten.

Izuku hadn’t committed an actual crime until he was ten.

Sending five men to the hospital is a pretty heavy first felony.

———————————————————————————————————————————

“What will it be today Mrs. Midoriya?”

Banks, Izuku had been to them a couple of times before, his mother often took him with her when she couldn’t get a baby sitter on time.

Not like he needed one.

“A mother will do anything to protect her child, even if the way they go about it is stupid.”

_A redhead lady staring scornfully at him, believing him a threat to her trueborn children._

“Bringing you along with her isn’t all that stupid either, she loves you and wants to keep you safe.”

It was a dull occurrence when he came, he could talk to his quirk, but conversations often faded in and out when he couldn’t do something else at the same time. His best conversations happened at the piano. His greatest developments occurred during performances.

“Just a deposit mis-“

**_BANG_ **

The fronts doors blew open in a rainfall of concrete pebbles and glass shards, the debris scattering throughout the main lobby of the bank.

“EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR,” A haze of bullets fired into the air, the bangs ringing in his ears and of those around him. People quickly dropped to the ground around him, cowering against walls, hiding against desks and tables.

“ILL MAKE THIS SIMPLE, ANYONE MOVES, ILL FUCKIN SHOOT YOU,” Another spray emphasized his point, a cacophony of cries and whimpers coming after.

Four other men quickly ran in after, each wearing a black beanie over their faces, carrying guns and duffle bags with them

_MP5, 9x19mm parabellum, 800 rpm, efficient SMG’s. Why firearms have barely been updated since my time, I will never understand._

In mere seconds each of the men began to approach clerks along the edge of the bank, shouts and commands filling the air as the bags became heavier and heavier. One of them, a man with red eyes and pale skin stepped towards him, barrel pointing in his face.

“Didn’t you hear the man, on the fucking ground.”

He hadn’t sat down, merely standing and observing the proceeding events. The other three with duffle bags continued with their jobs, the entry man standing at the front door looking into the street.

“I'll give you till the cou-“

“Do you like dogs?” The man, easily twice his height recoiled back, confusion spreading through his features.

“What?”

“I asked if you like dogs,” another second.

“What type of- AGGHHH,” His body shifted in mere moments as two Belgian Malinois bit into his legs, his pants quickly beginning to soak in blood. Izuku was quick to dash forward, a fist jammed into his opponent's throat as he collapsed to the floor, a heavy thud resounding as his knees collapsed, his body lying unconscious.

It wasn’t a quiet fight, the noise drawing the attention of the four remaining men.

_One is top-heavy, two twigs and a fairly fit fourth. The course of action, take down the lanky man to your right, remove his ability to stand._

People often say easier said than done, but when it came to fighting, it is as easy as said. The discarded MP5 quickly found its way to his hand, firing two shots, each placed into the knee caps of his first opponent. A scream and thud was a telltale sign of someone dropping. A sharp whistle led to his dogs running over and taking his gun away.

_Violence is an okay opener kid, but it's better if you can end a fight without throwing more punches than needed. Speak to them, make em realise it ain’t worth it._

“I suggest you put your weapons down. I was lenient with your companions,” the butt-stock felt comfortable against his shoulder, weight and pressure that brought forth Wicks's life, “I won’t be as lenient with you.”

The rattle of a hastily raised rifle and the bang of a fired round hit him before the bullet did, the piece of metal bruising his shoulder and dropping down. Two more shots to his chest led to two more bruises, barely aching his skin.

“I warned you,” he found his mark easily, the hand grasping his opponents SMG suddenly became a mash of bone and flesh as he disabled his opponent. The next two shots found placements in this man's knees as well within milliseconds.

This left him with his final two targets.

_The big boys._

The mutations were obvious on these two, the smaller having fur sprouting out on his exposed skin, while the bigger of the two displayed hoof-like feet. 

Beast mutations. 

Six feet and seven feet, tall opponents, stronger than the other three.

A Mexican standoff followed suit, two against one, fingers anxiously twitching triggers, neither pulling nor releasing.

After what felt like hours, possibly days, yet was only a few seconds, the first shot fired.

It wasn’t the last.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Tsukachi Naomasa was a good detective and an even better man. He was a man loved and respected by the hero and legal community, both for his efficient work, his ability to push through any case no longer how long it took and his deductive capabilities. Some of it came from his quirk, the ability to tell when someone was lying, but most of it came from his drive, his sheer desire to find out the truth.

It’s why he was often brought in on bigger cases, his career a spider web of gangs, trafficking, villain organisations and files that only have physical copies hidden away by government organisations and the hero commission.

He enjoyed smaller cases though, the ones he could put away in a few days, hell maybe even hours. Cases like muggings, fistfights in back alleys and the occasional bank robbery.

This wasn’t the occasional bank robbery, it wasn’t an average open and close job.

It was the start of an eight-year-long investigation.

He just didn’t know it yet.

———————————————————————————————————————————

“So, you’re telling me that the kid sent five men, armed and ready, to the intensive care unit.”

“Eye witness reports stated as such, and the security cam footage backs it up.”

Tsukachi new not to underestimate people, Aizawa taught him as such when they first met and he had enough conversation with Nedzu to know the dangers of assuming someone defenseless based purely on looks. Even then…

“Have you got his folder?”

“Here,” Sansa was a reliable worker, always had the resources he required when he needed them.

It was thicker than expected, a folder for a ten-year-old would usually be a page or two, just basic informational documentation about them. The usual information was present, name, date of birth, familial connections, fingerprints, current address. Then the quirk file came, along with highly detailed medical files, psych evaluations and-

“Weapon classifications, military evaluations, combat analyses, _a goddamn danger rating!”_

_“_ Kid’s got a complicated quirk, after the age of seven he was required to undergo a few tests, quirk documentation and such.”

_Legacy of John, strange name._

_Gives the user the knowledge, skills and memories of several people with the name “John,” so far has three other “alters” connected to his quirk…_

_It just goes on and on, fifteen pages of information, references to medical files, psych evaluations and everything else within the folder._

“I guess it makes sense, still it’s shocking.”

“Want me to go in with you Tsukachi?”

“I’ll be fine, just need a coffee after this.”

Walking into the interrogation room itself just led to a bigger impact on the events. 

_Kids smaller up close_

“Hello Izuku Midoriya, my name is Detective Tsukachi, we just need to explain some… terms before you leave.”

“I'm guessing the main point is whether or not it was self-defense due to the severity of wounds I gave them.”

_Mature, intelligent and dangerous. God, please never let Nedzu near this boy._

“That’s pretty much it, but due to the. Security footage, eye witness accounts and confessions from the two conscious perpetrators, we can claim it as self-defense. However, due to the severity of wounds, we are required to give you some form of charges.”

The kid looked calm, leaning back, body loose and relaxed. “Understandable, what am I facing.”

“Seeing as how it’s a first offense with no priors, along with only being ten, a few weeks of community service is all we need. I'm going to be honest with you kid, I don’t believe you should be doing anything, but this is just how it is.”

He leaned forward, his body hunching a bit as he lent on the table, “I understand, I dealt some serious damage to those men, and as such, I have to be punished in some way.”

“I’m still sorry about this. Other than that, you’re free to go, just try and stay out of trouble, okay.”

“C’mon Katsuki, we’re going to go clean a beach”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need this chapter released, but i also hate its' guts.


	14. The last memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku teaches Katsuki one of his greatest lessons and learns something for himself.

Community. Before the quirk era, discussions about whether or not the sense of community held between people had begun to disappear with the emergence of the internet and technology. Older generations believed that people spent too much time with their faces in screens and hands-on keyboards and that this shift in cultural identity was slowly decaying any form or sense of community. On the other side, we saw how vehemently younger generations defended that their sense of community wasn’t dying, but rather expanding and strengthening. People weren’t confined to their next-door neighbour or their classmates, but could instead talk to and form relationships with people anywhere in the world. While a sense of community might have faded in the neighbourhood, it shifted and grew beyond the confines of physical travel distance.

That’s not to say that the physical sense of community died, people still visited each other's houses, they still held social gatherings within their physical communities. People still offered help when a neighbour needed to move or fix something or look after a kid. The point is, humanities sense of community never died, they never lost connection to each other. People still acted as good neighbours.

———————————————————————————————————————————

Cleaning a beach wasn’t the average persons' definition of ‘a good time,’ in fact for most it was the exact opposite of enjoyable. Physical labour can be fun, as long as its something you want to do. 

Katsuki didn’t want to clean a beach, he didn’t want to deal with the sand chaffing between his joints, he didn’t want to deal with the blazing sun sitting above him, he didn’t want to be carrying a metric shit tone of broken appliances and random junk thrown away by dumbasses who couldn’t be  _ fucked  _ carrying it to a proper tip.

He definitely didn’t want to be spending eight hours of his Saturday and Sunday for the past twelve weeks doing it.

Why he let the nerd talk him into it, he wouldn’t understand.

_ It’s cause he’s a good teacher and he doesn’t do random shit without a proper purpose. _

Yeah, that’s probably why.

“Katsuki, come sit down for a bit.”

And if the nerd was telling him to take a break, he was going to take a break.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” and he understood why they were taking a break, he could feel the ache in his legs and arms setting in, the muscles, bones and joints in his hands constantly pulling his hands into a grasping position.

He caught the water bottle chucked at him, a pleasant presence in this situation. He had already chugged half of it before laying down next to his… teacher.

_ Huh, guess I’ve just accepted it _ .

“You aching yet?”

“No… yes.”

Another item was passed his way, a paper bag holding a bacon and egg roll within.

“Carbs and proteins, I know it ain’t the healthiest meal but it’ll help with muscle growth and energy for today and tomorrow. Also, doesn’t taste half bad.”

And it didn’t, it didn’t compare to aunty Inko’s or Izuku’s cooking, but from the nicely cooked, crispy bacon and the soft, fluffy eggs, along with some hints of barbecue sauce, he wouldn’t mind having another.

“So, I’ve been helping your dumbass for a few weeks now, you gonna tell me why we’re doing this shit.”

The gentle laugh that slipped from Izuku’s mouth was something he would deny enjoying. So was the distant look he got before handing down one of his lessons. The soft smile that landed on his face, the tilt of his chin towards him as he looked towards the topic of his lecture. He liked it, doesn’t mean he would admit it.

“Twelve weeks, eight hours on Saturday and Sunday. Do you know how many hours of work that is? One hundred and ninety-two. One hundred and ninety-two hours of community service, of giving blood sweat and tears to make the world of random strangers just that tiny bit better.”

He hadn’t thought of that. Hell, even looking around now he could see the physical change he had made. Yeah, there were still mountain-high piles of junk spread across the beach, but at the end, that small segment that they had started working on, was a line of clean, white sand.

“Do you know why I respect All Might, it's cause he doesn’t just protect civilians, he comforts them, helps them, makes them happier. All Might doesn’t just aim to beat his opponent, he works to leave the area just that slightly bit better than when he arrived. A good hero protects civilians and captures the villain. A good man, a good neighbour works to help his fellow man, make their life just that tiny bit easier. A hero might bring attention to the fact that this place is a mess, but a good neighbour, he pulls up his sleeves and gets to work cleaning it. Katsuki, the best men to ever live, the ones who are remembered, they changed the world. The heroes who will be remembered in a hundred years don't just beat the villain and leave, they help with the damage, help comfort the people, they act the way a good neighbour would."

The look that he got from Izuku after his speech was one he saw every once in a while, that look that said ‘I’ve taught you something, and you didn’t really realise it’. He usually had the same response, whether it was a greater response or a smaller response depending on the situation, but he could tell that the look of pleased realisation on his face was greater than any before.

“I’d say we can have a few more minutes of rest, then we’re moving onto the washing machines full of burnt clothes.”

Yeah, he could deal with that.

———————————————————————————————————————————

He didn’t usually come up here, the rooftops were dangerous and the second he fell, he was dead. Sure jumping between them was easy, running across roofs was a skill quickly developed from Hancock and Wick and just enough practice to make a seasoned free runner applaud, but one wrong step was all it took.

But he wasn’t moving around today, rather he was sitting on the edge, hand slowly petting Ghost, the white fluff ball greedy for attention.

The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, the orange glow lighting the buildings around him as the sky slowly began to fade to darkness. He still ached slightly from cleaning the beach, a project he had found enjoyable enough to do. 

“You’re doing good kid, you're doing good,” the puff of chilled air from Hancock's jet clouded around his head easily, a halo of mist lazying about.

Wick laid a comforting hand on his shoulder as he sat next to him on the ledge, “Katsuki is coming along quite nicely, you’ve taught him well.” 

“Aye, but you even more so have grown greatly,” the statement was said as Snow oiled his blade, laying against the ashen bark of a heart tree, “But you still have more to grow, and I’m sorry to say this, but tonight, tonight we might need to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Show you my latest memory. I’m sorry kid.”

His teachers faded away slowly, the heart tree before him exploded into a burst of white light, blinding his vision. From the light came snow, the world turning darker and darker as stone walls surrounded him. Before his vision sat a wooden cross, the word ‘TRAITOR’ painted in black. He spun around and felt it.

The first knife.

It pierced open the skin in his chest, the skin and tendons screaming out in pain as he struggled to breathe.

“For the watch.”

Another knife.

“For the watch.”

Another knife.

“For the watch.”

It was Ser Allister who said it this time, the knife staying for longer as it laid in his heart, the chambers and ventricles brimming with blood, the liquid spurting out before him.

As he fell to his knees, he looked up one last time to see his final assailant.

Olly.

His face was filled with rage and sorrow and betrayal, a concoction of pure hatred. He didn’t say the fated line as he stabbed one last time. The boy didn’t turn away as he fell, as the snow crunched beneath the weight of his limp body. The cold and numbness against his back felt so different from the warmth and stinging sprouting across his chest.

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t  _ live. _

He could only feel the sadness that Jon had felt, could only feel the pain Jon had felt, could only feel the rage and betrayal that spread throughout him.

It was short-lived, however.

The dead can’t feel emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that happened... um... yeah.
> 
> Like it, thanks for even giving the fic a chance. Hate it, tell me why, I'm trying to improve my writing. Hate me, understandable, I hate myself too.
> 
> Next time, i have no clue.


	15. The death of a child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral takes place.

Time is a strange concept to face. Humans record time in a measured way, we have seconds, minutes and hours. We use terms like ‘days’ and ‘years’ and uses phrases like ‘a couple of minutes’ to describe the length processes require to happen. But time isn’t so simple. In the world of physics, we talk about relativity, and I relativity we find that time is… relative. The average person believes that time is linear, that it continues forward and never goes back, others think that time is a loop, repeating itself infinitely. There are hundreds of theories that circulate around the concept of time, and we as humans don’t fully understand it. We see stars as alive, and yet they might have been dead for millions of years. A minute can feel like forever, but other times days fly by quickly. 

Time is strange, and humans don’t have a lot of it. In our unit of measurement, the average human spends seventy-one years alive, sharing memories and moments with each other. 

Katsuki Bakugou got to spend ten years alongside Izuku Midoriya. 

He would remember them forever.

  
———————————————————————————————————————————

  
Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone who cried, not because he thought it was a sign of weakness or anything, he has memories of Izuku crying and he was the greatest person he knew. No, Katsuki didn’t cry because sadness was a strange feeling for him. When he was happy, it came with loud exclamations and toothy smiles. Happiness came with constant movement and spread like wildfire. When Katsuki was angry, it was loud and brash and unrelenting. He remembered Izuku telling him that people should be comfortable expressing themselves however they want, but must remember that with every action comes with a consequence. When he got angry, he let explosions blow from his hands and ripped curses from his mouth, but only did so away from others, he did it in the woods or his room, or near Izuku, cause Izuku was happy to help him let it all out.

Anger and Happiness were emotions of magnitude for Katsuki, but sadness was quiet and small. Anger and happiness were feelings with motions and actions connected to them. Sadness was a feeling that made him want to sit down, that made him want to curl up into a ball and lay still, it was a feeling that he wanted to just pass by. When he was sad, he laid next to Izuku, leaning on him, and just listened as Izuku talked or sung or played the piano. Sometimes they sat in silence and Izuku held him close. It was comfortable.

  
He couldn’t cuddle with Izuku anymore, how was supposed to do so.

You can’t just hug someone who was under six feet of dirt.

And they can’t hug you back.

The funeral was quiet, just him, aunty Ink, his mom, his dad and Izuku’s music teacher. He wasn’t close to her, not as close as Izuku was.

It was a quick affair, they held a sermon, said final words to his casket, then carried it to the graveyard. Burying him was difficult, not physically, but emotionally. Aunty Inko let him throw the first bit of dirt. He didn’t want to throw in anymore afterwards.

She cried through the entire thing, weeping and sobbing. He wished he could help her, comfort her however he could. But he wasn’t Izuku, he didn’t have some world-changing teaching or lesson that could change a person fundamentally, he didn’t have some comforting words that made everything just that bit easier. So he just hugged her, held her as Izuku would.

She hugged him back.

It made them both feel that tiny bit better. Not a lot, but maybe just enough.

  
After the graveyard, they went to Izuku’s house. His dad made some tea, his mom holding aunty Inko, rubbing her back, just trying to help her. They didn’t share condolences, didn’t say “I'm sorry for your loss” or any of that bullshit because words are wind. Izuku had taught him that it didn’t just mean that words can only hurt if you let them, but rather that for words to really have meaning, they needed to be backed up by something more than the air that left your lungs.

He wouldn’t have any more lessons or teachings handed to him. None as great as Izuku’s at least.

His dad came back with the tea, placed it down on the table as he sat down. He wrapped an arm around him, brought him close.

No-one really drank it, just left it to sit there and get cold.

After a few minutes, he decided to head to Izuku’s room. The adults came with him.

Like everything that day, the room was quiet. What was once a place associated with the sound of sweet melodies and singing was dead silent. His piano sat beneath the window, unplayed and untouched, a reminder of what wouldn't happen again. Katsuki wouldn't run in on a Sunday morning, he wouldn’t listen to Aunty Inko humming along to whatever song Izuku was playing, he wouldn’t be able to sing and play along, he wouldn’t be able to do a million other things.

He didn’t realise that he had sat down on the chair until he had let his fingers gently caress the top of the keys.

Izuku was an excellent pianist and a wonderful singer, he had spent the past few years listening to both of those things. Katsuki, on the other hand, wasn’t a master at the piano and his voice wasn’t the best, but both had improved from when he began even trying to practice the musical arts.

So he felt comfortable playing and he did so because if there was something Katsuki knew Izuku would want him to do, it would be continuing to grow and express his love of music.

So he played, he sang, he remembered his friend.

———————————————————————————————————————————

“Are you sure you’re ready for this kid?”

“Yeah, I know I am.”

“Boarding for flight 8529 from Mustafu to Rome now commencing.”

He stepped toward’s the gate, ticket in hand ready for departure. The security looked at him warily, sharing a glance before one of them stepped forward, “Are you taking this flight by yourself kid.”

“Yeah, I’m meeting some family in Italy.” 

The man nodded, a comfortable smile meeting his face, “Well then, enjoy your flight kid.”

With that, he took his first steps forward.

He wouldn’t step back into the country for another six years.

“Hopefully Katsuki remembers my lessons.”

“He will kid, he will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know it annoys some people, but next chapter will be something akin to a time skip (It will cover a lot of time, but ill touch upon each year).
> 
> So yeah.


	16. It's good to be home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six years into the future, and a busy six years it was.

It had been six years since they buried Izuku, six years since they found him on the roof, stab wounds littering his chest, blood congealed around him. He was cold to the touch, snow littered around his body even though it was spring. 

What had Katsuki been doing in those six years? Training, learning and helping. He had been going to the gym three days a week, working to keep his physic in top condition. He had struggled to find a Krav Maga instructor but had spent four days a week with her to drill the movements and technique into his body. Every day started with a five-kilometre run as well, to build stamina capable of taking him through any day. 

He had placed himself into his studies, pushing himself forward and onward in every subject he faced. He constantly found himself at the top of the class consistently, never failing to find time in his afternoons to hit the books. With that also came a few minutes every day playing the drums, something that had annoyed his parents originally but found themselves admitting the kid had skill.

Finally, his weekend mornings were devoted to one simple thing. Community service. Originally it was just cleaning Dagobah beach, driving himself to make it spotless, but afterwards, he worked to find anything to do. Soup kitchens, charity centres, community programs, hell he may have taken part in a charity concert once or twice. 

Katsuki found himself doing shit every day, driving forward, developing himself.

Because if Izuku were alive, he’d probably be doing this shit as well, or he’d be cheering Katsuki on as he did.

Because that’s what Izuku taught him. Izuku instilled in him a drive and desire. Izuku taught him that trying to be the best for the sake of being the best would only lead to empty accomplishments and even emptier titles. Izuku taught him that the measure of a man isn’t found in comparing yourself to others, but rather comparing yourself to the man you used to be. 

Izuku taught him a lot. 

Katsuki wouldn’t forget any of those teachings.

———————————————————————————————————————————

_ Four years after Izuku Midoriyas funeral _

_ “In global news, Russia has been visited by ‘The White Wolf,’ an unknown assailant who has made their way across Europe over the past few years, taking out organised crime families in Italy, France, Spain and now; Russia. Saito, can you tell us more.” _

_ “As Roashi has stated, ‘The White Wolf’ or as Russia is claiming ‘The Boogey Man’ has now claimed around one thousand two hundred bodies, international investigators say there may be more. For those at home who haven’t heard of this mass murderer, four years ago Italy faced several months of upheaval as its criminal underground was torn to shreds. In three months, Italy found itself with three hundred murder cases, each individual having connections and ties to the Italian mob. Next came France, which experienced a similar fate as another three hundred known lives were taken across the country, focused in three major cities, each one again connected to the villain underground. So went Spain, with yet another three hundred individuals taken down. Of course, connections to the villain underworld were once again found. Russia has now faced a very bloody winter, with three hundred Russian mobsters found dead. While no news has come out about who this assailant is, we do know that they often kill alongside a group of canines and that they use both a bladed weapon and firearms. That is all the information we have for now. Back to you Roashi.” _

_ “Thank you Saito, that is all we have for today viewers, but we will update on all our platforms when we gain even a modicum of information.” _

———————————————————————————————————————————

_ Five years after Izuku Midoriyas Funeral _

_ “…Germany is the most recent country to be visited by ‘The White Wolf,’ another three hundred found dead, ranging from biker gangs to serial killers, global agencies are still looking for the assailant. Is this killer truly untouchable, only time will tell…” _

———————————————————————————————————————————

_ Six years after Izuku Midoriyas Funeral _

_ “… In recent global news, the yearly return of ‘The White Wolf’ has come, the most recent target was the country of Ireland. Across the past few months, the Irish mob was slowly taken down by this individual, another three hundred known victims have been added to his name. This leads to a truly horrifying body count of over one thousand eight hundred spanning across six years, the likes of which have never been seen before. I, for one, hope this serial killer is brought to justice… I am just being told that information has been brought forward about the possible identity of ‘The White Wolf’, however, we are not legally capable of reporting such information at the time and that said information will be withheld from all sources outside those of law enforcement.” _

———————————————————————————————————————————

Katsuki’s weekly schedule was a tight-knit occurrence of events, with every hour planned accordingly to allow him to do everything he needed, within the week, from training to community service to study. Within these hours, however, was time put aside not to work with, but rather to relax.

_ Cause even the nerd expressed the importance of relaxation. _

This was time put aside to play the drums or read a book or to just lay back and listen to music. On Friday afternoons, it was time for Katsuki to read, which was accompanied by a bit of background noise. Tonight, it was the news. 

That was how Katsuki had heard that The White Wolf had possibly been found. 

A set of knocks tapped away at the front door of the Bakugou households front door.

Opening it revealed the form of a man wearing a beige trench coat and hat.

“I was told I could find Inko Midoriya here, I need to ask her some questions.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

A few days later, a discussion was held between several people inside a Hosu conference hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s pretty obvious why we have called you all in today.”

The house police commissioner stood at the front of the conference hall, alongside him were an array of government officials, representatives from the PSIA, police commissioners from other cities and several Pro-heroes. Evermore present were screen's across the walls, displaying other officials, representatives and Pros who weren’t able to make it physically to the meeting.

“Photo and even video evidence have surfaced about the white wolf, though it isn’t much it’s obvious that this serial killer has found his way to Japan.”

Small discussions soon filled the room as people gave each other their own little comments on this new information.

Gang Orca was quick to throw his hat into the ring, “So what is the plan for taking him down, we all know what he’s capable of and I’d rather not run in blindly.”

Agreements came quickly, most heroes in the room not wishing to face the assailant alone.

Edge-shot quickly stood, bringing most of the noise down, “Are we even sure this is real, the perpetrator in these doesn’t look that old, I’d dare say he isn’t even eighteen.”

“Are you suggesting that six years ago, a ten-year-old was capable of killing more than three hundred criminals in a couple of months.”

At this statement, a man in a beige trench coat and inspector hat stepped forward. Nearly everyone in the room had either met him before or heard of him, either as a consultant or as a partner in a case. Tsukachi quickly made his way to the front of the room, asking the Hose police commissioner to step aside as he brought out a thumb-drive and gave a bag of files to be given out.

“A few years ago, I took part in a small bank robbery case. Five criminals were. Taken into custody that day, but that isn’t the interesting part of the case,” with a few clicks, security footage began to play on the front screen of the hall. The footage displayed a young child as he quickly took down five grown men, showing professional use firearms, melee weaponry and hand to hand combat. The presence of two dogs and a white wolf wasn’t missed on anyone present.

“The child in this footage is one Izuku Midoriya, aged ten at the time. In these files, you’ll find some rather interesting information.”

It didn’t take long for every person in the room to begin rifling through the given information, some gasping or wincing at the medical reports and photos, one or two of the PSIA representatives whistling at the combat analyses, most of the heroes surprised at the presence of a danger rating present.

“At this point in time, Izuku Midoriya would be sixteen years old, if it weren’t for the fact that he is claimed to be deceased.”

That quickly took everyone's attention from the folders and brought it back to Tsukachi. Even as he stood in front of several gazes, he didn’t back down.

Endeavour who had been sitting closely towards the front quickly showed his annoyance, “What’s the point of presenting these files if the child you’re suggesting is our suspect is dead?” 

Agreements were quick to come forward, some more aggressive than others.

Tsukachi was quick to call for silence, and while the noise. Never fully quieted, it was enough for him to present his answer.

“I stated that Izuku Midoriya is  _ claimed  _ to be dead. A few days ago, I requested Izuku Midoriya’s mother to allow me to dig up his grave,” the backlash he received for the statement was instant, exclamations of how cruel he could be to a mother and how disturbed he could be to dig up a child’s grave thrown forward.

“The roof of the casket was broken to pieces and the casket itself was empty.”

Once again the room fell silent as everyone realised what this truly meant.

Izuku Midoriya was alive.

A sixteen-year-old boy was responsible for the deaths of over one thousand eight hundred men.

“It’s good to be home, Ghost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, i did something. Say what you want, but i did it.


	17. Sharing drinks with business partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku sets up shop and has a meeting or two.

How far into the future do you look. How far along do your plans go, how distant is your finishing line? Do you merely go from day to day, moving with the current and flow of life? Do you plan months in a schedule, making a list of plans for each day, structuring a life to the hour hand? How about years, what is your life going to look like in five years, ten years, twenty even? There is no one way to live a life, for some they are leaves flowing in a river, flowing along with the current. For others, their life is a rigid machine, ticking, shifting, turning in predetermined motions, working flawlessly. Or is it a mix, do you have a goal at the end of a period of time, but the road is a winding, viewless road. Is your life like that of a man wandering through the fog towards a distant light, a general sense of where you’re going but no real understanding of how the path looks.

Izuku had an idea, decided upon a final destination, but honestly, the path he took was a bit wonky. Though what would you expect for a sixteen-year-old with the skills to rampage across Europe and the simple desire to teach.

I'm guessing you wouldn’t expect him to set up a bar, would you?

  
———————————————————————————————————————————

Izuku’s first month back home had been a rather ordinary time considering everything. First, immediately after landing, he drove a pre-placed Black 1969 Ford Boss 429 Mustang towards a building that he had been putting funding towards for the past few years. Upon arrival, he had met a man wearing a purple suit and pants, who had taken to smoking outside the establishment as he waited.

Putting his hand forward, Izuku headed towards the man, “Giran, I hope everything has been put in place.”

Giran replied with a firm handshake, “Everything has been positioned just as you requested White Wolf, though I sadly haven’t been able to fully furnish the upstairs bedroom.”

“It’s alright, as long as the main floor is set.”

“It is.”

With the discussion finished, Giran directed Izuku inside the building. Hosu was a place known for having a bit of a shadier side to it, which made the establishment present quite an odd sight. The first floor was a nice fifteen by fifteen-meter open room. In the south-west corner sat a corner bar, stretching nine meters across the west wall, bottles upon bottles of different drinks and liquors aligning the wall, with a selection of beers on tap, ready to be served. Along the opposing wall, on a slightly lifted up portion was a line of booths, sections that could comfortably sit two groupings of three opposing each other, a table in between. Placed in the north-west corner, a lifted stage where a grand piano sat looking out towards the audience, a microphone and speaker sitting next to it. The north wall of the establishment consisted of windows looking outwards toward the street, not a glorious view but it allowed for people outside of the building to see into the pub/club. The main interest of the bar was the centre of the area, a large open dance floor with checkered tiles. With the red leather booths and bar stools, the place held a somewhat 1960’s diner vibe.

“Groovy, how has finding staff been going?”

At this Giran rubbed his face, a slightly frustrated sigh slipping through, “I’ve got some possible options for you, but your qualifications are kinda hard to cross-reference.”

“If need be I’ll handle training.”

“Combat?”

“Bartending.”

Giran chuckled lightly, sitting in one of the bar stools as Izuku stood behind the bar top itself. He grabbed two pint-glasses, quickly filling both to the top with the dark liquid of Irish Guinness, a soft foam head accenting the top.

“Thank you Giran, it’s pretty much what I wanted.”

“With what you’ve been paying, I wouldn’t want to risk disappointing.”

“Well, just know that you’ll always have a drink on the house here at Goodneighbour.”

The clink of two glasses ended the discussion and began the tale of Goodneighbour.

While the first floor of the building was a pub, the second floor was Izuku’s current place of rest, his home. A two-bedroom apartment, with a kitchen, theatre, living room, bathroom and large office turned home gym. The entrance of said apartment was a set of stairs hidden behind in the wall behind the bar, allowing for a feeling of disconnect between the two places. While the first floor was quite filled out, the top floor was more spartan, with nothing covering the walls or countertops, though that would eventually be changed in the future. For now, though, Izuku merely used it to sleep. 

The first few days were rather quiet, with Izuku shopping for small decorations to fill out his home, groceries for meals and linen for the different furnishings to fill out his new home. The second week was when everything changed.

Finding targets wasn’t all too difficult in Hosu, the placer having a few smaller gangs and criminals that quickly found a placement on Izuku’s hit list. For now, he’d stick to the small groups, plans for taking down larger groups shifted to the side.

The third week home was the beginning of Izuku’s movements. Nights were spent travelling Hosu, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, avoiding heroes and fighting those who roamed back alleys with evil intentions in mind. It wasn’t his usual crusade, merely a warning of what’s to come.

The final week of his first month was when it all truly changed.

  
———————————————————————————————————————————

  
It was a silent night, the follow up of a rather inactive Sunday. Izuku stood behind the bar, an Old Fashioned sitting in his hand, the cold drink slowly sipped from. As the citrus flavour hung on his tung, the front door opened.

Izuku looked up, gazing upon a person as they walked in. A rather tall figure, their body was a rather strange image, a flickering gaseous form, purple smoke liking away at the air around them. A bright yellow gaze connected with emerald green. The purple man sat at the bar counter, leaning against the dark mahogany of the bench.

“A glass of rye whiskey on the rocks if you would.”

It was rather easy to find the bottle, seeing as how Izuku had used it moments before. He poured the golden coloured liquid into a chilled glass, two large ice cubes following afterwards.

“I’m glad someone noticed my establishment, but I’m guessing you haven’t just dropped by.”

The purple man took a slow sip of his drink, enjoying the burn it brought to his throat.

“You would be correct White Wolf, or should I say Izuku Midoriya?”

Whatever reaction the man expected to receive wasn’t present, for Izuku stood calm and relaxed.

“You can use either, though I would like to know who I’m conversing with.”  
  
Another sip was had before he replied, “My name is Kurogiri, though it isn’t all that important.”

Silence lingered in the air as Kurogiri enjoyed his drink while Izuku sipped away at his. As he finished, cleaned his glass and put away the Whiskey, Izuku began to talk.

“Very few would know who I am, my real name at least. I know you don’t have connections to anyone I formally know, and the men I wish to make enemies of wouldn’t have access to that information either. I think I might know who sent you, but id rather not be correct.”

“Do I have your consent to take us to him.”

Izuku sighed but moved towards the front door of the building. Locking it, he headed back towards Kurogiri and gave human affirmative. Kurogiri activated his quirk, a swirling warp gate opening just before them, the other side not visible to either person. Stepping in together, Izuku found himself in a large open room, with a wall covered in screens. In front of the screens was a single chair, and in it sat a man in a neatly pressed black suit. Pipes and wires were placed upon his body, machines beeping away next to him, and on his face sat a mask, covering his visage.

With a voice that struck at Izuku’s core, the man spoke. 

“Hello, White Wolf.”

“Hello, All for One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a solid reaction or two for last chapter, so im rather pleased with that. This chapter though, i have no idea how some of you might respond.


	18. New and old faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izuku talks with a new face and reconnects with his ward.

“So you know who I am,” the voice, It sounded so raspy, as if the man in the chair was struggling to breathe, yet held more authority than any other he had heard.

“If you think I don’t know who you are, then my opinion of you is too high,” the chuckled he received was one that sent chills down his spine, not because of the tone or sound, but because of the feeling of it.

“Sometimes our opinions can be clouded by the stories we hear. I haven’t decided whether the stories I’ve heard are true or not…”

There wasn’t any way to get comfortable in the room, the walls were too far from AFO to lean against, the only chair in the room was occupied and sitting on the floor was a bit too childish.

“I wish we could have spoken at my bar, a lot more comfortable there,” another chuckle, though this one did feel more peaceful, like a skirmish compared to a war.

“I would have liked that as well, but sadly… my current state doesn’t allow it.”

A chair quickly appeared from one of Kurogiri’s portals, a small fold-out one with a cushioned seat. It was comfortable enough, better than standing at least.

“I haven’t been the best host sadly, even though you gave Kurogiri some lovely hospitality.”

“The purpose of Goodneighbour is to be accepting of all, whether you be a hero or villain, civilian or vigilante. A place made of the people, for the people. Now, I believe you didn’t invite me here for a friendly chat, so what would you like from me.”

One of the screens behind AFO flickered on, the picture slowly clearing as the visage of a man appeared. Pale blue hair, dark long-sleeved clothing covering dried and cracked skin.

“This is my ward, Shigaraki Tomura. I’ve been guiding him since an… unfortunate accident befell his family. Though In the past few years I haven’t been able to guide him as much as I desire to. Having heard that you were coming back to Japan, I knew that there was no-one better to guide him.”

He looked like an interesting character, a build made more for speed than power, his hands were in better condition than the rest of his body, a touch-based quirk most likely. But what caught Izuku’s attention were his eyes, he’d seen them a few times before, the eyes of someone grasping upon the world, seeing not what can be built up but rather torn down. The desire for destruction wasn’t that of an anarchist, but rather a lunatic, a psychopath, a maniac.

“I have to politely decline.”

Kurogiri seemed to go rigid for a second, the flickering of his form slowing, his back straitening even more. The room appeared ever so slightly darker, the air just that bit heavier.

“May I ask why?”

The space around Izuku stiffened, an invisible grasp beginning to crush him. He had felt this feeling a dozen times before.

“I already have a ward under my tutelage. Also, you’ve bent young Tomura too far, moulded him too rigidly, if I stepped in now, he’d break and not in a good way.”

AFO raised an arm, slowly enough to raise concern but the mere motion of it sent alerts through Izuku’s head. He tucked his hand under his chin, a rather relaxed position, a look that mimicked boredom.

“And if I say you will teach young Tomura?”

“I’ll deny you again, fight you if I have to.”

“Do you not fear me, White Wolf, do you believe if you challenged me you would win?”

Izuku chuckled lightly, a short exhale of his nose more than anything.

“All for one, I have a list, nine people within Japan that I would more than likely lose against. Though this list changes and shifts due to context, your name sits comfortably at the top.”

“And yet, you would still fight me, my how brave you are.”

“We can only be brave when we challenge the things we fear.”

AFO lowered his arm again, resting it against the armrest of his chair. The air grew soft, light returning to the corners of the space. What was once a chocking grasp around Izuku was a soft suggestion. He spoke to kurogiri, “Kindly take our friend back to his bar again.”

The portal opened quickly, this time the other side was visible, an open dance floor present. As Izuku placed his first foot through, he looked back to the two men.

“Both of you are welcome at Goodneighbour if you ever decide to visit.”

Just as he stepped through fully, AFO took the last words.

“And you are not an enemy of us either, Izuku Midoriya.”

And with that, the portal closed, leaving Izuku in the silence of his bar.

“Guess it’s time to open the bar.”

———————————————————————————————————————————

It had been one month since Katsuki had found at that not only was Izuku Midoriya alive but that he had spent the last six years travelling Europe and tearing apart its criminal underground.

And yet he hadn’t been able to do anything about it, hadn’t been able to search for him, hadn’t been able to ask about him, he hadn’t been able to do shit.

That is until one of the kids in his class asked him something stupid.

“Hey Katsuki, me and some others were heading to this new bar this afternoon, wanna come.”

Katsuki, who was beginning to pack his bag had to look up at the idiot; Shendo he remembered blearily, and do a double-take.

“You want to head to a bar, a place you aren’t legally able to even enter until your eighteen, and bring a hero hopeful with you.”

When he had the gall to shrug, Katsuki began to head for the door.

“Well if you don’t want to, that’s fine, we just wanted to see it since it only opened a week ago, the place is called Goodneghbour or something.”

Katsuki stopped, his body going stock still and rigid.

“What?”

“The places name is Goodneighbour, don’t know nothi-“

“Show me.”

The place was in Hosu, a far distance from his home but close enough to not be an inconvenience. The outside was painted in pure black, though the front sign consisted of varying shades of white and grey, the lettering a deep red, and its those letters that took Katsuki’s breath away.

_Goodneighbour_

_THAT BASTARD_

He quickly ran to the front doors, bursting into the building, the others rushing to catch up. The sound of the others banging on the now locked door was background noise to Katsuki, his focus was on the sound of piano keys playing away, softly caressing his ears and easing his mind.

There, sitting on the stage playing the piano was a man wearing a sleek black suit, a black fur cloak hanging by his shoulders. And just to confirm Bakugous suspicions, the man's hair colour was a deep, forest green.

The man stopped playing and stepped off the stage. His shoes tapped softly on the floor, his pace slow and even. When he was barely a foot or two away, he began to speak.

“Hey there, Katsuki.”

With tears in his eyes, Katsuki replied, “Hey there, Nerd”

Then he proceeded to punch Izuku in the face, followed by a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UHHHHHHHHHHHH.
> 
> Also, do any of you guys have any tags you think I should put under this fic, cause Bisexual Izuku is going to be the first but i think it might need more.


End file.
